Guilt
by LylaLorrin
Summary: Sixth year. The D.A. is getting stronger, the Order is getting weaker. Is there a traitor in their midst? Harry reluctantly asks the ever-obnoxious Malfoy for curse training and Hermione and Ron are keeping secrets. Various pairings, slash friendly.
1. Chapter 1

* * *  
  
Summer at the Dursley's was about the same as usual, even though Uncle Vernon had been warned by Mad-Eye Moody and other members of the Order of the Phoenix to treat Harry well after his horrendous fifth year at Hogwarts. The only notable difference was that whenever he said that he didn't exactly think that his needs were being satisfied, Uncle Vernon had practically tripped over himself in his eagerness to lecture Harry about how wrong he was. However, every time this happened, he'd later find whatever he'd complained about left for him without a word. For example, he once complained that he didn't even enjoy eating his food anymore – they were all still on Dudley's diet, which seemed to contain only about one piece of lettuce and a carrot per meal. He was lectured on how unappreciative he was by Uncle Vernon, but when he went up to bed later there was an entire plateful of food sitting there, waiting for him. He tried to thank his aunt the next morning, but she just looked at him in an almost petrified manner and proceeded to ignore him.  
  
The other good thing about this summer was that Professor Dumbledore didn't tell anyone to not tell him anything about the wizarding world. Consequently, he didn't have to hang around the Dursleys all the time, scrambling for news, or worry about being angry with his friends. In all honesty, they told him so much about the wizarding world that he began to wish they'd shut up a bit. Truly – why would he need to know the suspected color of Fudge's socks?  
  
He never did say anything to Hermione or Ron about the overwhelming amount of information they sent him, mostly because he didn't want to disturb the balance they'd worked out between them. It had taken a good month or so for Hermione to stop questioning the state of his mental health in every other line, and just as long for Ron to feel comfortable writing about anything other than Quidditch and the twin's joke shop. He suspected it was because they just didn't know what to say to him.  
  
Hell, he understood. It wasn't the first time he'd dealt with death – and he knew that it wouldn't be the last.. but... this was the first time it had been someone he'd known well and cared about. Harry would never be able to count how many times that summer – especially the first few weeks – that he'd sat down and started to write a letter to his godfather, or thought to himself how amused Sirius would be about some small incident or joke. It was those times – the times when he found himself acting as if Sirius were still around – that hurt the most. His heart would pound and his head would swim, and he'd just stand utterly still, his mind blank.  
  
Fortunately, those moments were coming fewer and farther between. While part of him – the part that blamed himself for killing Sirius – hated that he was starting to accept it, the rest of him rejoiced because it was so much easier to just breathe now. He no longer felt like every breath was an act of sheer will, or that the only thing keeping him from screaming and throwing his fists against the wall was the mask he had to wear for fear of proving the Daily Prophet right – that he actually was off his rocker.  
  
By the end of the summer, Hermione and Ron had reported that the Order of the Phoenix and the Ministry of Magic had put their efforts together into forming the Defense League – a place for any who supported the fall of Voldemort and his Death Eaters. While still a relatively small organization –comprised mostly of the Order and the Ministry itself, its numbers increased daily as fear raced throughout the wizarding community. Currently, the Death Eaters Dumbledore had caught were still in Azkaban, but visits to the homes of officials at the Ministry by Dementors were becoming terrifyingly abundant.  
  
Harry, himself, had had no such visits. His time was spent contemplating the prophecy that decreed he must either become a murderer or a victim, and he'd had to come to terms with how he was going to proceed with his duty.  
  
He was anxious, infuriated, eager and horrified all at the same time. Yet he was ready to be a part of it all again. And prepared, he thought, for anything that might happen.  
  
Of course, he wasn't...  
  
* * *  
  
"Harry!" The sound of his name stated almost in unison by three different voices caused him to smile and whirl around, releasing his cart to catch the small form that flung itself against him.  
  
"Ron! Ginny! Hermione! How was your summer?" His arms closed about Hermione as he hugged her tightly, though his steady gaze met Ron's over her shoulder.  
  
Hermione stepped back, her cheeks lightly flushed as she ran a hand through her tangled tresses. "Mine was quite busy. I've read up through quite a few DADA books, and made some sketchy lesson plans for you to use with the D.A."  
  
Harry looked down at Hermione, his brows lifting in surprise even as Ron laughed and stepped forward to shake his hand. "Don't ask about it, Harry, please. Not yet. I've already heard the entire outline. Six times."  
  
Harry grinned, releasing Ron's hand and reaching to hug Ginny, exchanging greetings with her before replying. "You poor thing, I feel so so so sorry for you."  
  
Ron looked at him rather indignantly as Ginny chuckled. "You ought to! I also had to endure Mum's pining away for you all summer! 'Oh, poor Harry, I wonder if he's being well-fed. Oh! It's such a beautiful day, it's so sad that poor Harry can't get outside much.'" The words were spoken in a highly falsetto tone, at which Harry and the others laughed, until sobering quickly, their eyes widening.  
  
Ron looked at the lot of them and groaned, his shoulders slumping. "She's standing right behind me, isn't she?"  
  
"Right you are, Ronald Weasley! And I'm going to follow you to that school to ensure that you behave as a proper prefect should unless I get an apology from you this INSTANT!"  
  
Ron rolled his eyes a bit, but murmured irritably "...Sorry, Mum."  
  
"That's better. See that it doesn't happen again!" Mrs. Weasley's voice suddenly changed from Screeching Harridan to Weepy Den Mother. "Harry. It's so good to see you, at last. I hope you didn't fare too poorly this summer! I so wanted you to come join us at The Burrow, but Professor Dumbledore insisted that you were better off at home. Which is just rubbish, I know, but still – one doesn't go against a man like Dumbledore!"  
  
Harry just smiled a little, a bit uncomfortable at being spoken to as if he were a toddler still in his nappies, but he was becoming more used to it now. Ron and Ginny's Mum cared about him, and he was grateful for it. He bent a little – he was now much taller than she was, though Ron still had him beat – and slipped his arms around her, hugging gently as he spoke quietly. "It's good to see you too, Mrs. Weasley. I wish I could have stayed at The Burrow, but I was alright at the Dursley's. And I'm okay, really."  
  
She leaned back at stared at him a moment, then beamed, nodding. "Well of course you are! Strong boy like yourself, no reason why you wouldn't be!"  
  
Ron just rolled his eyes again, and Ginny shook her head in mild amusement. Hermione piped up as Harry turned to grab his belongings once more. "We really ought to get on the train, especially if we want to get a compartment of our own so we don't have to split up."  
  
"You're such a thinker, Hermione. What would we do without you?"  
  
"Shut up, Ron."  
  
"So Hermione, what did you have in mind for the D.A.?" Ron's strangled groan could be heard as he clamped his hands over his ears and glared in Harry's direction.  
  
Harry grinned and made his way onto the train. It was good to be back.  
  
* * *  
  
"So, what are you planning, Draco?" Crabbe spoke to his fellow Slytherin around a mouthful of chocolate.  
  
Draco narrowed his gaze, then turned away in disgust. "Like I'd tell you, you fat slob. You're no use to anyone like that, truly. How do you expect to help your father when he returns? Spit chocolate at him and hope that it helps increase his desire for vengeance?" The words were bitter and derisive as he turned his face toward the window.  
  
"I just simply cannot believe you two are not more furious with Potter," he nearly spat the name. "He got our fathers sent to Azkaban, for Merlin's sake! And you two dolts just sit there like nothing has changed!"  
  
For a moment, Crabbe and Goyle looked hesitantly at each other. Then, tenatively, Goyle began speaking. "It's just... everyone hates us, now that our families have been proven to support the Dark Lord. My mum says that Father was an awful fool to go getting caught, and deserves whatever comes to him."  
  
Draco whirled away from the window, shocking the two others by pulling out his wand and holding it out in the direction of Goyle's throat.  
  
His voice was utterly frigid when he finally spoke, "Are you attempting to say that my father is a fool, Goyle?"  
  
Goyle was stupid, but not a complete lackwit. He shook his head negatively, his eyes wide with horror. "N..no! I w-would never say that about your father, or any Malfoy!"  
  
Draco remained utterly still for a few moments, then put away his wand and relaxed in one swift, graceful movement. "See that you don't."  
  
Crabbe reached nervously for another Chocolate Frog, but his hand was slapped away just before he touched it.  
  
"No more of that. We have work to do."  
  
* * *  
  
"Have you talked to Dumbledore at all this summer, Harry?" Ginny's words were quiet but effective; everyone looked up from what they'd been doing and turned toward Harry.  
  
Carefully he set aside the notes Hermione'd made that he actually had been looking at, and glanced around. The only students in the compartment were Ginny, Ron, Hermione, Neville, Dean, Seamus and Luna Lovegood, who still hadn't set aside her copy of The Quibbler to listen. She'd invited herself to sit with the group of Gryffindors, claiming she had more in common with them than with the other Ravenclaws.  
  
"What do you all think of continuing the D.A. and incorporating a select group of talented members into the Defense League?" Various exclamations of agreement and excitement followed his words, but his gaze focused on Hermione and Ginny, who'd remained silent. After a few moments, the others seemed to realize that there was a bit of thinking going on and they quieted, looking a bit baffled.  
  
Two minutes later, Ginny began to nod thoughtfully. "I think it's a good idea. It will give students a chance to become part of the fight on their own, so that perhaps their parents won't be making their decisions for them."  
  
Harry nodded, then looked toward Hermione, patiently awaiting her response. It came moments after Ginny's words. "Ginny's right in what she says... but I wonder if it's such a good idea to publicly claim that some will be members of the League itself. It leaves us open to betrayal. Not that I think that the concept isn't a good one. We would just need to be very careful to make it a school effort, not a House effort. Gryffindor alone should not be in control."  
  
Dean looked a bit affronted and sat up straighter, "Then who should be, Slytherin?!"  
  
Harry responded, his voice calm and quiet, without the emotion his fellow Gryffindor had used. "Yes, Slytherin. And Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor. All of us. Not one House excluded or too powerful. United."  
  
"That would leave us even more open to betrayal, Harry!" This time it was Ron speaking up. He'd never been a large fan of Slytherin.  
  
Luna spoke up, her face still buried in The Quibbler. "Actually, it might. However, if you do not include everyone, then you face sending the other Houses to the Dark Lord's side merely because they feel that they don't fit in on ours."  
  
Ron looked toward Luna, a bit stunned. Hermione smiled a little, and Harry nodded. "Precisely."  
  
The compartment was quiet as everyone digested the comments, until Neville spoke up slowly. "So... Harry.. does this mean that you've already discussed this with Professor Dumbledore?"  
  
Harry looked over at Neville, a bit surprised that he was the first to pick up on that. He smiled and nodded. "Yes, it does."  
  
"And he thinks it's a good idea?"  
  
Harry nodded once more, "He suggested it."  
  
Ron gaped at Harry, "You're kidding! Dumbledore would never put us in a position where we might be harmed."  
  
Hermione caught her breath as Harry seemed to become cold and still, and her gaze darted between the two boys until Harry finally spoke.  
  
"I'm not kidding."  
  
Ron narrowed his own gaze, then nodded slowly. "Alright then, Harry. So how do we start it?"  
  
"It's already started!" Hermione spoke up indignantly.  
  
"He means with everyone else. How do we start the meetings and give everyone a chance, as well as keeping it from seeming like a Gryffindor-run party." Luna's words were matter-of-fact, and Ginny couldn't help but grin.  
  
"Luna, how do you manage to read and listen at the same time?"  
  
Luna Lovegood looked up and smiled rather mysteriously, then returned her gaze to the magazine and turned the page without responding.  
  
Dean shook his head and looked toward Ron. "So was that what you meant?"  
  
"Yeah." Ron responded distractedly – he was busy giving Luna a glance that was somehow a cross between frustration and utter bewilderment.  
  
Harry reached into his pocket and withdrew a few pieces of parchment, leaning forward to show them toward the group. "Here's how I thought we'd start..."  
  
Everyone looked up as the curtain was jerked to the side and three wands faced the group rather threateningly.  
  
"The first to move for their wand will regret it," Draco Malfoy's voice hissed at the lot of them. Instincitvely, the lot of them froze, most of them startled to realize that their wands weren't at the tips of their fingers. They hadn't used them all summer.  
  
Harry stood slowly, facing Malfoy with hooded green eyes. "What do you want, Malfoy?"  
  
"You, Potter. To pay for what you've done to my father." He didn't even bother mentioning Crabbe and Goyle's parents.  
  
Harry smirked a bit, lifting a hand to rub his moistened cheek. "You're spitting, Malfoy. Do show some manners, would you?"  
  
Hermione tugged at Harry's elbow, hissing his name beneath her breath. "Harry! Don't provoke him!"  
  
The Boy Who Lived straightened his shoulders and slowly held his arms out at his sides, not paying one bit of attention to Hermione's words. "You said you wanted me to pay, Malfoy. Well. Need I remind you that I'm standing right before you?"  
  
Draco pressed his lips together angrily, then thrust his wand forward and cried out, his voice literally shaking with anger. "Crucio!"  
  
Hermione screamed as Harry moved, so quickly it seemed impossible. The flash of green light that erupted from Malfoy's wand hit the ceiling as Harry's hand shoved his arm upward. His fingers curled around Draco's wrist, clamping tightly as he lifted his free hand and tugged Draco's wand out of his grip.  
  
By this time every other person in the compartment had their wands drawn and pointed straight at the three Slytherins. Crabbe and Goyle looked at Draco, then at each other. In one spectacularly coordinated movement, they turned and tried to leave, digging their elbows against each other as they attempted to go through the opening at the same time.  
  
Harry laughed softly, causing his friends to shiver. He didn't sound at all like himself, and his amusement didn't seem the least bit funny. Still clutching Draco's wand, he released the other boy's wrist and stepped back, standing in front of his friends – all of whom still had their wands drawn and pointed at Malfoy.  
  
Harry folded his arms and stared at Draco intently, who flushed and glared back, his gaze full of hatred. "Give me back my wand, Potter! Or I'll –"  
  
Harry broke in calmly. "Or you'll what, Malfoy? In case it escaped your notice, you have no wands, no friends, and no father here to back you up."  
  
Malfoy just glared at Harry, his hands fisted at his sides as he attempted to decide whether or not he ought to attack or retreat. Finally, Harry made his decision for him by stepping forward and holding out his wand.  
  
"This is a one-time-only deal, Malfoy. Come at me again, especially with an Unforgivable Curse, and I promise you that you will live to regret it. I do this for one reason, and one reason alone. You support your father, and I find that loyal. However. Do not make the mistake I did; do not be so caught up in seeing what you want to see that you forget to see what actually is." Harry handed the wand out to a shocked Draco, who grabbed it up furiously, even more angered that Potter had the gall to give him back his wand, and the sheer nerve to try and tell him what to do.  
  
Harry stepped closer, until he was almost on top of Draco's feet. That he was a few inches shorter than the other boy didn't seem to matter in the least as he whispered quietly, his tone full of a very real danger "Now get the hell out of my sight."  
  
Draco remained still for a few more moments, his face becoming stone as his eyelids slid down to survey Potter disdainfully. Then he whirled, disappearing from the compartment, the curtain falling back into place behind him.  
  
Harry stared at the spot where Malfoy had last stood for a few moments, then slowly exhaled and returned to his seat. As if on auto-pilot, the rest of them followed suit. Tenatively, Hermione reached out and rested her hand atop Harry's.  
  
"Harry...?"  
  
He smiled and turned his hand over, clasping hers gently and squeezing once before releasing it and picking the parchments he'd dropped up off the floor. "Now. Where were we..."  
  
* * *  
  
Long since having Sorted the first-years and allowed the entire student population to fill themselves near to exploding on the artfully displayed feast, Dumbledore finally stood up and faced the four House tables. It only took a few moments for the room to quiet as everyone focused on the Headmaster.  
  
"I am afraid that I have a bit more to add to my initial remarks, which are as follows: As always, no students are permitted in the Dark Forest at any time. Also, the list of objects not allowed by Mr. Filch in school has again lengthened, and can be found posted up on his door. He has suggested that those who do not wish to feel his wrath get rid of the posted items immediately. He has also stated that he suspects the list will grow quickly should he find any of the Weasley's rather ingenious tricks being used in 'inappropriate manners'." Ron grinned a little, and Ginny smiled with pride as Dumbledore glanced in their direction. It was obvious to the entire hall that Professor Dumbledore thought the twin's inventions quite entertaining.  
  
"It is also my pleasure to introduce Professors Nympadora Tonks, who will be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts this year." The Headmaster paused for the light applause, then continued. "Now. I would like you all to please listen very carefully, for what I have to say is of the utmost importance." Dumbledore waited until the room grew quiet again, then continued on quietly, yet effectively. Every now and then his gaze bounced of Harry's, who nodded slightly in response.  
  
"Our world has been turned upside down again since You-Know-Who's return. Muggles and Non-Muggles alike are in very grave danger. Most of you probably know what has been happening since the events of last spring, and as such you would also be aware of my intention of stopping You-Know-Who from causing so much destruction.  
  
"But I am only one man, and I cannot do this alone. In the past, it has been my policy to never involve students in a fight which I considered beyond them – not something they should be worried about. I was wrong. The fact of the matter is that this war will affect you – each and every one of you. And as such, you have the right to be a part of it.  
  
"This does not mean that I intend to send any of you to war. What it does mean is that I want you to prepare for it. This year, if you so wish, you will have the opportunity to learn how to fight. You will receive proper training, and shall be instructed on those situations in which your training will be effective, and when it will not. In addition, your ideas and thoughts on the upcoming battles will be treated just as importantly as any other adult's. You all matter. Your input and your strength will help show those afraid to step up and fight that courage is within everyone.  
  
"When you return to your dormitories tonight, I would ask that students in years 5 through 7 who wish to be a Defense Representative for their House and, as such, part of the small group of students who will be responsible for teaching and guiding the rest of you in this endeavour – to place yourselves in the running. Do not do so if you do not support fighting against You-Know-Who. The rest of you - please do not choose the person who has the best grades, or who gained the most Quidditch points last year. Choose the person who has the strength, dedication and fairness to represent the rest of you. Choose someone you trust.  
  
"All students will be allowed the opportunity to vote. Voting will be done by ballot, and shall be collected and returned to me for counting by promptly 10pm this evening. The results will be posted tomorrow here in the dining hall.  
  
"Thank you for your patience, everyone, and have a good night. Prefects, please direct the first-years to their rooms." Dumbledore finally sat down, and the Hall exploded with noise as everyone reacted excitedly to the opportunity given to them.  
  
"I didn't expect it to go over this well, "Hermione murmured quietly to Harry.  
  
"I certainly did. Who wouldn't want to finally get a chance to learn something useful!" Ron's tone betrayed his excitement, and he even shot a grin at Colin Creevy, who was nearly bouncing out of his seat, proclaiming that he was going to vote for Harry.  
  
Harry shrugged lightly and stood up, looking at his friends and speaking quietly. "I just hope they all understand how serious this is."  
  
This time it was Ginny who spoke up, reaching out to touch Harry's arm lightly. "They will, Harry. You'll make them."  
  
Harry forced a slight smile toward Ginny, then moved toward the door, "Come on. We have a meeting to attend."  
  
* * *  
  
At the other end of the hall, Draco Malfoy looked as if he wanted to kill someone – namely one Harry Potter, and quite possibly the gaggle of dutiful Gryffindors at his sides. It was fairly obvious that they'd been behind this little group of Dumbledore's – they'd remained completely unsurprised during the speech. And after all, he was aware that they'd already started doing such things last year.  
  
It infuriated him, how Dumbledore was trying to turn the entire school into a bunch of mindless yuppies. He was right, and anyone who thought otherwise was wrong. Hogwarts was going to turn into the base for the Defense League, yet! Damnit! His father did not need so many people fighting against him.  
  
Pansy Parkinson rested her hand lightly on Draco's shoulder, though she stepped back quickly when he stood abruptly and glared down at her.  
  
"I – I didn't mean to startle you, Draco. We're going to go to the dorm now – you coming?" She eyed him speculatively, her slight fear at his anger seeming to have disappeared quickly.  
  
Consciously, Draco rolled his shoulders back and smiled – well, smirked. His lashed lowered about halfway, and he gestured before him. "After you, my lady."  
  
"You're too kind, Draco."  
  
"My parents taught me manners, unlike many others here." His gaze fell momentarily on Crabbe and Goyle, who were busy shoveling all the brownies they could into their mouths before leaving the table. Pansy followed his eyes and chuckled softly in amusement.  
  
"Speaking of parents, Draco – how's yours?" Blaise Zabini's sauve voice caused the other two to glance behind them. Typically, the other boy was leaning against a wall, posing as if he were a model. His cool blue eyes watched them as he smiled with false innocence, eager to see where his provoking would get him.  
  
Draco turned slowly to face Blaise, and his features hardened into an incredibly polite facade. "Oh, I assume they're right where they want to be, Zabini. How about you? Heard you were dumped – again – this summer? How was that?"  
  
Zabini straightened, the smile falling off his face as his cheeks colored with anger. "Watch your mouth, Malfoy."  
  
Draco smiled slowly. Seeing it, Pansy shivered – it wasn't exactly a nice look. He stepped forward, until he was nearly on top of Blaise's feet. The two were about the same height, but Draco was just slightly broader – as if he had muscles, whereas Blaise didn't seem to know what muscles were.  
  
The two boys remained utterly still for a few moments before Draco slowly reached up and brushed invisible lint off Blaise's shoulders, then patted the other boy's cheek firmly. "I'd be careful, were I you, Zabini. You're starting to look a disgrace. We wouldn't want to find that you had... changed... on us. Would we, Pansy?"  
  
Pansy responded immediately, her green eyes wide. "No, of course not, Draco." Her voice was soft, trembling faintly. It seemed Malfoy intended to take Slytherin's stance on everything right from the start. She didn't envy Blaise.  
  
Draco merely nodded – he'd never bothered to look at Pansy. He knew she'd agree with him. Most of Slytherin would. Partly because they agreed with him, but mostly because they were scared of him – or rather, his father. And he intended to keep it that way. His gaze remained locked with Zabini's, until the other boy nodded and dropped his gaze to the floor.  
  
"You won't, Malfoy."  
  
"Good. Crabbe, Goyle. Quit stuffing yourselves. We have a vote to attend." Draco stared at Blaise another moment, then turned and walked from the hall without a backward look, his two dutiful sidekicks scrambling to catch up with him.  
  
Blaise ran a hand through his hair and exhaled slowly, then looked back at Pansy. "Seems things haven't really changed."  
  
Pansy was quiet a moment, watching the other Slytherins leave. Finally she turned her gaze back toward Zabini. "I wouldn't be so sure. Personally, I think things are going to be a lot more interesting, this year."  
  
* * * 


	2. Chapter 2

* * *  
  
"Alright, now that everyone's here – any 5th, 6th or 7th years who think they are capable of representing Gryffindor as our Defense Representative, please stand so we can take down your name." Angelina Johnson's voice was loud so she could be heard over the quiet whispers and murmurs that went through the room, though they quickly quieted when no one stood up.  
  
"No one thinks they're capable of the task? No Gryffindors?!" Angelina was obviously shocked.  
  
"It isn't that, actually." Neville Longbottom spoke quietly, hesitantly – as if he wasn't certain of his reception. "It's just – well – we all know that it's got to be Harry."  
  
Several nods and murmurs of agreement followed Neville's words, and he smiled a little and relaxed as Angelina frowned a bit. "No one else even wants to try? And where is Harry, anyway? And Ron, and Hermione?"  
  
"They are with Professor Dumbledore, if I'm not mistaken." Ginny's voice was calm and composed.  
  
"Well, we need them here! We can't vote without them! The vote wouldn't be official!" Angelina looked frustrated.  
  
Ginny just smiled and glanced around a moment, then spoke quietly. "Just for a reference – and mind you, this isn't the real vote – who thinks Harry should be Gryffindor's Defense Representative?"  
  
Every single student in the room – including the first years – raised their hand. Even Angelina had her own lifted. A few of the paintings on the walls were raising theirs as well.  
  
Ginny smiled once more, lifting a brow in Angelina's direction. "You were saying?"  
  
"I know you have a point, Ginny, it's just – aren't there other people who want to have a chance at this? It shouldn't go to Harry just because....because he..." She trailed off lamely.  
  
"...Just because he's faced Voldemort more than once, and lived to tell the tale? Just because he trained quite a few other students and thus rendered them capable of fighting against Death Eaters on their own? Just because he is widely known as the Gryffindor Champion, and we would all look like fools if we didn't choose him?" Again, Neville spoke up, surprising the room with his heretofore nonexistant confidence.  
  
"Well, all those things may be true, but we all deserve the same chance."  
  
"Angelina, we all have it. We can all be part of the D.A. that is forming. It's just – it's like Quidditch. Would you accept being made Seeker by popular vote because it was fair, knowing that you'd never be better than Harry?" Ginny's voice was quiet but firm.  
  
Angelina seemed to falter. Finally she sighed softly and smiled at the rest of the room. "If you're all certain. No one else wishes to be considered?"  
  
The room was entirely silent for a full minute. "Alright, then. I can't say that I don't agree with the rest of you. There are ballots on the table. Fill them out and stick them in the vase near the door before you go to bed, please. And," she added on tactfully. "Welcome back, to Hogwarts, everyone."  
  
* * *  
  
The door to Dumbledore's office closed behind them, and Ron released a breath of air, rubbing his forehead distractedly. Hermione just stopped and stared out the nearest window, her fingers tapping absentmindedly against her thigh, her lower lip caught between her teeth. Harry slide his hand through his hair, causing a few more strands to stand on end. Hermione glanced over at the movement, and her rather severe expression softened, her brown eyes wide and wary.  
  
"You okay, Harry?"  
  
Harry thought about her words for a moment, then shook his head and lifted his shoulders in a weary shrug. "No, Hermione. I don't really think that I am."  
  
"'Course he isn't, Hermione. Would you be, if Dumbledore had just told you that-"Ron's indignant voice silenced quickly when Harry closed his eyes, sliding both hands into his hair and gripping tightly for just a moment.  
  
"Don't! Please, Ron...I don't... I can't hear it again." Ron glanced away, unable to watch his friend's face as he worked to calm himself down again. Hermione moved closer to Harry, tenatively lifting a hand and settling it against his nape. When he didn't protest, she began to rub, her fingers pressing firmly against the tight muscles at the base of his neck. Harry closed his eyes and released a pent-up breath, his head tilting forward to silently encourage the massage. For a few minutes, they remained utterly quiet, although Ron's hands began to tighten into fists. Finally, Harry lifted his head and stepped away, his arms folding over his chest as he turned around to face the both of them. Ron relaxed a little, worry returning to his expression as he took note of the stress lining Harry's face. Hermione just watched and waited, allowing Harry to make the next move.  
  
"I think that-"Ron interrupted Harry rather quickly, stepping forward and lowering his voice.  
  
"Harry, perhaps not in the hallway?" Harry flushed a bit, glancing around quickly. He'd forgotten that they weren't alone. Hermione colored as well – it wasn't like her to not be the first to point such a thing out.  
  
Ron shook his head at both of them, then gestured lightly for them to follow as he made his way to the Room of Requirement. The other two followed him into the room, and stopped immediately, eyes wide with astonishment. Hermione blushed deeply and averted her eyes, Harry started to grin, and Ron burst into laughter.  
  
The room they'd used for D.A. practice last year was lit up by perhaps fifty candles. A leopard-skin rug covered the hearth, and electric red flames vibrated enticingly from the fireplace. In the back corner of the room, two figures dressed in rather skimpy bathing wear had their arms wrapped about each other in a realistic-looking hot spring. At Ron's laughter, the two jumped apart, and the girl cried out in mortification.  
  
Ernie Macmillan swore loudly and quickly reached over, grabbing a towel and handing it to the vaguely familiar looking girl. She snatched it from him and promptly turned her back to everyone, drying herself off frantically. Perhaps five, maybe six seconds passed before she grabbed her clothes and raced from the room, nearly bowling Hermione over in her haste.  
  
As the door slammed behind the girl, Ron doubled over, chortling loudly. Even Harry chuckled, distracted for the moment from the dark discussion that had brought the trio to the room. Ernie jumped out of the water and dried himself off, glaring furiously at the lot of them.  
  
"What is wrong with you, Weasley? I've been planning this all summer! I had to write to her every week to get her to trust me, and you ruined it. I'm going to strangle you! You too, Potter – I can't believe you didn't have the decency to get out when you saw that the room was OCCUPIED!" Ernie was livid as he struggled back into his robes, and when Ron began to guffaw upon hearing that Ernie'd had a cute little pen pale all summer, the Hufflepuff lost his temper and flung his wet towel at Ron's head.  
  
Fortunately, Ron saw it coming and ducked. The wet cloth wrapped itself around Hermione's face, instead.  
  
Everyone gasped and just stared as Hermione shrieked and jerked the offending cloth from her head. Ernie took one good look at the scholarly prefect's red face and began to snicker. "Her – Hermione... I'm r-really sorry..."  
  
"Ernie, I am going to kill you!" She stalked forward, withdrawing her wand and pointing it in his direciton, ignoring for the moment that her two best friends were not doing a thing to help her.  
  
Harry watched, laughing hysterically – which felt pretty good, as he hadn't been able to find many things funny as of late – as Hermione advanced on Ernie. Slowly it dawned on the Gryffindor that Hermione knew an awful lot of spells – potentially harmful ones. And she seemed angry enough to use them. He sobered a little and stepped forward. "Now... Hermione... it was an accident. Ernie didn't mean it."  
  
The ticked off girl just threw a glare over her shoulder at Harry, then continued walking toward Ernie, who continued to fall back, palms held up in surrender. "Hermione, Harry's right! It... it was an accident! I didn't m-mean to!"  
  
Hermione didn't relent, forcing Ernie back further. A comical look of shock crossed Macmillan's face as he took another step backward – and couldn't find the floor. A loud yelp preceeded the massive splash as Ernie fell, fully clothed, into the hot spring. With no small amount of satisfaction, Hermione put away her wand and rested her hands on her hips. Ernie surfaced, wiping water from his eyes – he was obviously stunned.  
  
"Oh, I'm so sorry about that, Ernie. It was an accident!" Hermione's eyes were wide with insincere innocence, and Ron straightened, still laughing as he saw the look on her face.  
  
"Damn, Ernie! Didn't you ever learn to beware a woman scorned?" Ron was beginning to have a difficult time breathing – he couldn't stop laughing.  
  
Ernie glared up at Ron, then smirked and held out his hand. "Very funny, Weasley. Help me out."  
  
Ever the good sport, Ron bent forward and grasped Ernie's hand – only to find himself tugged into the water with one swift movement.  
  
Harry sat down, tears of hilarity running down his cheeks as Ron's gurgled yelp accompanied the loud splash he'd made. Hermione's lips twitched, and her anger drained rather quickly when her arrogant friend surfaced and immediately launched himself at Ernie, dunking him with the expertise borne of having four older brothers. An enthusiastic water fight ensued rather quickly, and she watched for a few minutes before seating herself next to Harry.  
  
She nudged his shoulder lightly with her own. "You're awfully quiet, Harry. Thinking up a massive attack on both of them at once?"  
  
Harry didn't bother glancing up, his amusement fading rather quickly. "Not them, no."  
  
Hermione bit her lip, silently cursing her choice of words. "Harry, listen..."  
  
"Hush, Hermione. I'm alright. Truly. And to be honest, I just don't want to talk about it right now." He glanced toward her and smiled – not because he felt like it, but because he didn't want her to push. Considering the penetrating look she gave him in return, he doubted he'd fooled her – but she backed off, nodding a little toward the two boys still cavorting around in the water.  
  
"They certainly seem to be enjoying themselves." Amusement lurked in her tone, and Harry managed to find a genuine smile for her as he lifted one arm and wrapped it around her shoulder, pulling her against him.  
  
"It's Ron, Hermione. It doesn't take much."  
  
Mildly surprised by the familiar touch, though not at all uncomfortable with it, Hermione just smiled and closed her eyes. "Sometimes I wish I could be a bit more like him."  
  
Harry looked down at her, slightly confused. "Like Ron? Tall, gangly and red-haired?"  
  
Hermione smiled and shook her head, responding quietly. "Like Ron – friendly, brave and easy-going." Harry sighed softly at her words, pulling her closer for a moment and smiling.  
  
"I like you just the way you are, Hermione Granger."  
  
She grinned, leaning away from him just far enough that she could meet his gaze without getting a crick in her neck. "Of course you do! I'm quite unique!" Despite her boasting tone, the lack of modesty was a pretence, and Harry smiled.  
  
"Oh, certainly."  
  
She had no response to that, so she didn't try to make one, merely leaning quietly against him, feeling his chest move with each breath he took.  
  
"Hermione... do you... do you think I ought to try?" To her credit, Hermione didn't overreact to the sudden change of topic. She'd been expecting it.  
  
Moments passed as she considered her response, until she finally replied with soft sincerity, "I think that even if it doesn't turn out to be useful, you'd forever regret it if you didn't try it, Harry. It would eat you alive if things didn't go well and you didn't use every weapon in your arsenal to prevent it."  
  
Harry didn't bother to take time thinking about her words; as usual, she'd just mirrored his own thoughts. He just didn't always trust his own thoughts anymore – it was good to have his opinions confirmed. But still...  
  
"...What if it does the exact opposite? What if it does more harm than anything else?"  
  
"Harry, who could it possibly harm?" She shifted in his embrace, scooting until she faced him directly, her back toward the two boys who were now occupied with trying to see who could do an underwater handstand the longest.  
  
In the past he'd have just shrugged off the question, but he'd learned that keeping things bottled up resulted in very childish behavior – like destroying the Headmaster's office. "Me. What if I can't handle it?" As he spoke, his gaze focused unseeingly on the ceiling, but as he finished he lowered his eyes to her own. Brown eyes held green forcefully as she responded with complete honesty.  
  
"Doing this would be the best thing for the school, and for the wizarding world, Harry. I'm not certain that it will be the best thing for you." She paused, then continued intently, "One is not more important than the other. You will be needed to end all this – I firmly believe that! So if you think that you can't handle it, then seriously weigh out the consequences. But it's ultimately your decision, Harry. You know that."  
  
He just managed to stifle a bitter laugh at her remark – he knew she was unaware just how true her belief was. With a slight sigh he acknowledged her words, then glanced over toward the hot springs, where Ron was now glaring rather indignantly at him.  
  
Chuckling lightly, Harry squeezed Hermione's shoulders before removing his arm and rising to his feet. "I'm going to go for a walk. Need a hand?"  
  
Though she was troubled by his expression, Hermione decided to let him alone for a bit. She waved away his offer of help with a soft laugh. "I can get up perfectly well on my own, Harry. I'm certainly not helpless! Besides, I think I'm going to wait here until Ron gets out of the water. You and I both know that he's just waiting for us to get closer so he can get us sopping wet as well. And I have no intention whatsoever of returning to the dorms tonight looking like a drowned rat!"  
  
Harry nodded distractedly, ruffled her hair lightly, then called out to Ron and Ernie before leaving the room.  
  
When Ernie finally left the room and a dry Ron flopped down next to Hermione, she looked over at him rather sadly.  
  
"So, have fun getting cozy with Harry?" Even Ron heard the edge of jealousy in his words, but Hermione decided to ignore them.  
  
"I'm starting to wonder if Harry's going to survive this year, Ron."  
  
"What?!" He sat up quickly; she had his full attention.  
  
She shrugged briefly, staring at him anxiously. "Even Dumbledore is putting pressure on him. Now that everyone believes him, I think he's going to be tremendously burdened by the wizarding world's expectations. Plus... I'm fairly certain that there are things he hasn't told us."  
  
Ron digested the words, then nodded a little. "I get that feeling, too. Do... do you think he'll be able to do what Dumbledore asked?"  
  
Hermione nodded. "Honestly? I think Harry is capable of doing whatever he puts his mind to doing. It's just... I wonder if he's going to be able to think clearly enough to want to do everything they're going to demand of him."  
  
"Well. We'll just have to watch him, make sure he doesn't overdo it."  
  
"Yes... and we're also going to have to help him, Ron. I mean – it's not like Snape is going to give Harry a reprieve because of all the other things he'll be doing..."  
  
Ron gasped in utter shock. "Hermione! Did... did I just hear you – Gryffindor Prefect Extraordinaire – suggest that we should help Harry cheat?!"  
  
She flushed and glanced away, "It's just... well... he has so much else to do..."  
  
He shook his head, still rather astonished. "Oh hell, Hermione, it's not like I disagree with you – nor is it that I have a problem doing it! I'm just... surprised that you suggested it."  
  
Once again, Hermione shrugged, not looking at Ron as she replied quietly, "I'd do anything for Harry, Ron. Surely you know that by now."  
  
He stiffened, then pushed himself abruptly to his feet. "Oh, yeah. I know it. Who doesn't?" Not really very good at hiding his emotions, Ron angrily gathered up his belongings and moved toward the door.  
  
"I'm going back. You coming?"  
  
Bewildered by his sudden mood change, Hermione nodded and pushed herself to her feet. The two walked all the way back to the common room without speaking, but every now and then one would discreetly eye the other with frustrated concern.  
  
* * *  
  
Harry stepped into the Prefect's room, taking a seat at a small round table. Hannah Abbott and Terry Boot smiled in his direction, offering greetings. The fourth seat was empty, to no one's surprise.  
  
"Have a good summer?" Harry offered a smile as he set a rather large box on the table, leaving the lid closed.  
  
Hannah grinned, "It certainly wasn't boring. My mum was all excited because I told her about what I learned with the D.A., so she started demonstrating some other useful techniques. I practiced with a stick – but now I'll be able to use my wand. If I can do them, I'll be able to teach everyone else."  
  
Terry glanced at the girl with friendly skepticism. "Can you show us anything right now?"  
  
Her cheeks flushed, and she dropped her wand, obviously flustered. "I... I haven't had a chance to practice, yet..."  
  
The Ravenclaw just smiled, picking up her wand and holding it out to her. "It's okay if it doesn't work. I just want to see. Please?"  
  
Hannah glanced at Harry rather uncertainly, and he nodded his assent. "You can do it, Hannah."  
  
After a moment she nodded and took her wand, rising to her feet and looking at Terry with a mischevious smile. "Your idea, you're the target. Stand up, Terry."  
  
Terry lofted a brow, then glanced at Harry with a grin as he pushed himself to his feet. "Women are so vindictive, eh, Harry?"  
  
The Gryffindor laughed and folded his arms over his chest, watching as Hannah took a deep breath, then uttered a soft curse that smacked Terry right in the chest – and caused him to start performing rather enthusiastic jumping jacks, his eyes wide with surprise.  
  
"Very – good, Hannah! ...You – can stop – it now!" Terry huffed out, until a giggling Hannah ended the spell.  
  
Terry collapsed back in his seat and grinned up at the girl. "Now I know how to make sure I stay in shape!"  
  
"You're a good sport, Terry."  
  
"Oh, definitely. Keep in mind that payback's a bitch, eh, Hannah?" The words were flirtatious, and Hannah merely lifted a brow in acknowledgement of the challenge. Harry watched quietly, reflecting for just a moment how lucky they were to be able to relax like that, just for a few moments. To forget everything.  
  
Moments later, the door opened and Draco sauntered inside, glancing down with a particularly nasty smile. "Haven't started, hmm? Lost without me? I expected as much from such worthless specimens. Your Houses haven't a clue what they're doing, really. Voting the three of you in. And Gryffindor's the worst! Potter, who says he's faced Voldemort lately, hasn't even managed to do anywhere near as much damage as he did when he was still in nappies! Some hero."  
  
Hannah inhaled sharply, her hands fisting at her sides as she parted her lips to defend Harry, even as Terry jumped to his feet. "It's Slytherin who made the mistake, Malfoy! You –" Terry stopped speaking as Harry spoke, quietly and calmly.  
  
"Ignore him, he just wants to irritate you. Sit down, and be quiet. Malfoy, you as well. I have something to show you all before we get started."  
  
Draco narrowed his grey eyes, spitting out furiously "Listen here, Potter, if you think for one minute that I'm going to be taking direction from you –"  
  
Harry stood up, his own gaze glittering with suppressed anger as his hands fisted at his sides, yet his voice remained utterly calm. "You doubt I've seen Voldemort? I'm going to show you what I've seen. So Sit. Down!"  
  
Terry and Hannah looked at Harry in shock, and both quieted, waiting for Draco's next move. After a few tense seconds, the Slytherin Defense Representative joined the others at the table and sat down, his manner indolent.  
  
"Think you can shock us, Potter? Well. Let's see you try."  
  
The Gryffindor clenched his jaw, then raised his gaze to the ceiling, obviously struggling for control. Moments later he seemed to find it, and slowly his green eyes lowered to fixate intensely on Malfoy.  
  
"Malfoy, your father is in these memories. Think you can handle that without throwing a temper tantrum?" The words were deliberately insulting, the gauntlet thrown. Harry didn't breathe as he waited to see if Draco would pick it up.  
  
Slowly the young Slytherin straightened in his chair, and his silver eyes flashed derisively at the idealistic boy standing before him. Though Draco's cheeks were slightly flushed and his hands fisted beneath the table, no other visible sign of distress marred his features. But even Harry shivered when Malfoy finally responded – the words a hissed threat, dark and ominous and somehow believable – not because they were afraid of Draco, but because it was completely obvious that Harry had just dared to cross the one line that no Malfoy ever let pass unchallenged.  
  
"Potter... You will regret this, I promise you." Not knowing how true those words were, Harry responded quietly, "Can you handle this?"  
  
Draco stared at Harry, refusing to acknowledge the fear that began to squirm in his gut. It wasn't like Harry to back down from him, nor had he ever heard that pitying tone of voice directed toward him before. Potter obviously believed he had something, some knowledge, some way to defeat the Malfoys. While part of him didn't want to see, didn't want to know, the rest of him clearly understood that he had to have the information. Knowledge was power, and power was everything.  
  
"Play your hand, Potter. You couldn't trump a Malfoy if your life depended on it." Purposely assuming a negligent pose, Draco turned his gaze from Harry to the Pensieve, which he easily recognized, as his father owned one.  
  
Harry watched Draco another moment, and for a moment he recalled the uncertainty that had plagued him when he'd seen Snape's memory of James Potter. In that moment, that brief space of time between one breath and the next, Harry felt compassion for Draco Malfoy, and silently wished this wasn't necessary. But it was, and he knew it – and Draco was a Malfoy after all. The moment passed, and Harry nodded.  
  
"This is a Pensieve, a memory-holder. I asked Professor Snape to make it for me." He'd done that on purpose – used Snape. Malfoy would be less likely to discount the memories if he knew that his most trusted teacher had created it. "When I have a memory that I want to save - so that I can remember it with perfect clarity later - then I place the memory in the Pensieve. I'm going to show you the two most recent memories I have of Voldemort, and what occurred just before them... so that you all know what we're up against.  
  
"I'd ask that you don't share this with anyone. I... don't want to be answering questions from the entire school. But if we're going to do this, I think you need to truly know that Voldemort is back, and this is the best way I can think of to accomplish that." Harry spoke quietly, not looking at Draco, Hannah or Terry – but rather at the Pensieve, dread congealing in his stomach. He hated reliving this.  
  
Hannah took a deep breath, then ventured softly, "Harry...are you certain? You don't need to show me this – I trust you. I believe he's back."  
  
"I do too, Harry. I don't need to see this." Terry's words were firm, decisive. But Harry shook his head a little, though he didn't respond. He was flattered and honored by their words, but he wasn't really doing this for them. Malfoy had to see.  
  
Without further explanation or warning, Harry touched the surface and brought up the memory of the moments just before he and Cedric Diggory had decided to take the Cup together.  
  
* * *  
  
"Everything is ready, I presume?" The cold, hard voice echoed just slightly in the cold hall. His companion nodded and shuddered, careful to look away from the owner of that demanding, fearful voice.  
  
"Y – yes, Master. The proper authorities have been bribed or ... otherwise taken care of. Also, Unplottable dwellings have been made available in various areas of the city and the countryside, should one of the many be discovered."  
  
The Dark Lord nodded thoughtfully, idly stroking his chin for a moment before he spoke quietly. He wasn't actually addressing his subject, but thinking aloud. "The boy should be more accessible to me, now – but he isn't. His mind is strengthened. I am not pleased of this; Snape was supposed to see to it that the boy didn't learn Occlumency enough to be able to prevent me from having access. He swore to me that he'd taken care of it! Wormtail!" A large fist slammed against a rotted wooden table, sending the small cardboard box lying atop it crashing to the floor.  
  
Wormtail jumped back, eyes wide with fright. "I'm r-right here, Master...!"  
  
"Set things in motion. And get in contact with Severus – he seems to have forgotten what he was supposed to be doing for me!"  
  
"Yes, Master, right away!" The worthless whelp that had once been James and Lily Potter's good friend scurried off, and as he disappeared, his master smiled rather maliciously.  
  
"Things are proceeding quite well. Quite well, indeed..."  
  
* * *  
  
The last image of Voldemort's face on the night he had appeared in the Ministry of Magic began to fade, and Hannah Abbott immediately looked at Harry, her blue eyes swimming with tears. He offered her a slight, comforting smile, then returned his gaze to Malfoy.  
  
Harry had been watching Draco for the entire two hours – through both the night Cedric died and the evening spent in the Department of Mysteries – and only once had he seen a flicker of emotion on Draco's face. That emotion had been pride.  
  
It was gone now. Malfoy's face was completely devoid of expression, and his gaze remained fixed on the pensieve, although Harry knew very well that Draco was aware of his gaze, and was intentionally avoiding it. Terry seemed quite aware of the undercurrents sifting between the two boys, and after a few moments' indecision, he merely leaned back in his chair, saying nothing. Hannah parted her lips to speak again, glancing back and forth between Harry and Draco, uncomfortable with their silence. Seeing her movement, Terry reached forward quickly and lightly grasped her wrist, shaking his head in silent command to remain quiet when she looked over at him. With a slight sigh of bewilderment, Hannah shrugged and closed her mouth, her gaze darting back and forth between the two rivals repeatedly.  
  
Time passed slowly, but no one moved until finally, Malfoy shifted. His jaw set, he lifted his gaze from the pensieve and focused in Potter's direction. Having prepared himself for anything, Harry was nonetheless shocked by the sheer intensity of hatred that seemed to radiate from the youngest Malfoy.  
  
"You're such an idealistic fool, Potter. I assume you thought that when you showed me my father's humiliating capture, I'd be embarrassed? Humiliated?" Draco cut off Harry's surprised protest, pushing himself forcefully to his feet, towering over the Boy Who Lived. "I have news for you, Potter. I'm neither. In fact, the only thing that has changed is that I now pity you more than I believe I had before – my father went easy on you and still you had to be rescued. You're bloody useless as a wizard, Potter – and I'm fairly certain that you know it. Soon, the entire school will as well." Draco turned on his heel, heading for the door. Harry stared after him, trying to think of something to say – but shame had colored his cheeks, and his lashes lowered, concealing his gaze from view. He couldn't fight the demons inside him that screamed that Malfoy was right.  
  
Abruptly, Draco stopped and looked back over his shoulder, and Harry straightened, his chin lifting as he stared back defiantly, fighting for calm. "There's just one more thing, Potter. Should I hear that one thought of speaking ill of my family has crossed your mind, I will destroy you." With that, Malfoy stalked from the room.  
  
Slowly, Harry sank back down into his chair and closed his eyes. He didn't truly notice when Terry and Hannah whispered their apologies and slipped out. He was too busy trying desperately to convince himself that Draco was wrong... but he wasn't doing such a good job of it.  
  
* * *  
  
Draco left the prefect's room, his expression changing completely as soon as he was out of sight of the others. Abruptly deciding that he had no desire to go to Slytherin and have to spend the next hour entertaining his house with expected tales of Potter's stupidity, he headed for the Astronomy Tower, his mind completely and utterly blank.  
  
Out of habit, Draco locked the door behind him with an intricate spell – not that he found it remotely difficult to do – most of the doors in Malfoy Manor were locked by that particular incantation. For a few moments, the boy stood completely still, his eyes closed as he just breathed deeply. Having relaxed some insignificant amount, he made his way to the window seat, curling up on it as he often did when escaping the world around him.  
  
He didn't do this often at Hogwarts. Almost never, in fact. He didn't need to. At Hogwarts, he reigned supreme. He led the Slytherins through their fear and admiration of his father, was the favorite student of the Head of his House, and had the entire school's attention by placing himself opposite the unforgivably popular Potter. With all that, he never had to worry about feeling inferior or incompetant.  
  
That only happened at home.  
  
Finally, he released his thoughts enough to allow the images he'd seen in Potter's pensieve to return to his mind, and immediately he shuddered. The look he'd seen on his father's face – it had almost seemed like respect. Enraged and reluctant respect, but respect just the same.  
  
Lucius Malfoy had never looked at his own son that way. Draco knew, because he'd spent most of his life looking for it.  
  
Not, of course, that it mattered. Harry had had his friends backing him up, and his father truly had seemed quite afraid of losing the Prophecy, and thus upsetting the Dark Lord. Personally, Draco didn't understand his father's devotion to Voldemort. The wizard had already proved himself unable to stand up to a mere child, and then made it worse when he couldn't finish him off as a teenager – and he'd faced him more than once!  
  
It was disgusting, really. But Father said that there was more to Lord Voldemort than Draco had seen, and he trusted his father. Awful run of bad luck for the Dark Lord, though.  
  
Draco shook his head, lifting his hand to rub the bridge of his nose, trying to ease the headache he felt coming on. It was all Potter's fault, too. He'd had to use so much effort to keep from leaping across the table and turning the idiotic Gryffindor into worm fodder that his head was throbbing. If only he hadn't promised his father he'd keep a close eye on Potter...  
  
Well, there was nothing he could do about that. Not that he really wanted to. He intended to make the Boy Who Lived pay for the attention and respect that all the idiotically stupid (and seriously deluded) people in the wizarding world gave him. It was nauseating to see how everyone pandered to the little hero – even the professors at Hogwarts hesitated to deduct points from him these days. Merlin forbid they offend the Famous Harry Potter! Snape was the only exception, and as of late even he seemed to be avoiding the legendary Gryffindor. It made no sense, really, especially since Lucius had hinted more than once that Professor Snape was someone he could go to for help, if he needed it. Someone who understood their cause.  
  
Draco frowned as he realized he should have done that long ago. Hell, Snape could probably give him a clue where his father was. Damn, why didn't he remember that before! Oh yes – too busy fending off Saint Potter to think about his own father. His fists balled as frustration overwhelmed him once again. Harry Potter was absolutely worthless, and he'd prove it to everyone. He'd make the stupid fool a laughingstock – teach everyone to despise the weakling for the coward he was.  
  
If the thought arose that perhaps he wasn't capable of besting Potter, Draco ignored it completely. He was better than Harry Potter. He was.  
  
* * *  
  
"Everyone, please stop talking a moment!" Hermione yelled the words for the second time, glaring at those who dared ignore her statement. When the room was finally quiet, she offered the inhabitants a rather tiny smile – as if to say she'd known that they'd listen eventually – and gestured toward Harry, Terry and Hannah. "I believe they wish to get started."  
  
Terry leaned toward Harry a bit, speaking under his breath. "Where's Draco, Harry? Thought he was leading the Slytherins..."  
  
Harry frowned and shook his head, his shoulders lifting in a bit of a shrug, though the nonchalance was forced. He was very curious – and not just a little nervous. It wasn't like Malfoy to not show. He hadn't backed down since third year.  
  
When a few more seconds of expectant silence passed, Terry shrugged and stepped forward, smiling toward the rather crowded room of students. "Hi, everyone. Quite a few of you, aren't there? We didn't expect this much... no matter, though, right? The more, the merrier, that's what we say, isn't it Harry? Hannah?"  
  
Ron leaned toward Hermione, a brow cocked in amusement, "Is he expecting us to answer those questions? He's not giving anyone time to respond."  
  
Hermione turned her head to glare at her friend for a split second, then faced forward again and whispered almost inaudibly, and out of the corner of her mouth "Shut up, Ron. He's nervous!" Ron snickered, though the sound was quickly stopped by a well-placed elbow being shoved in his gut. Hermione just grinned when Ron cussed at her beneath his breath.  
  
Hannah was speaking now, her voice gradually becoming louder as her natural ability to relate to people overcame her nerves. "While we're aware that Hogwarts is a very safe place to be, we also know that circumstances can change rather quickly – especially with You Know Who's return. So, what we thought we'd do is..." Hermione tuned Hannah out as the bright Huffelpuff outlined the weekly schedule, tenative lesson plans, and the general layout for each session. She was quietly contemplating the value of a weekly study session to increase knowledge of the Dark Arts and protection charms when the door to the room slammed open and Neville Longbottom stepped inside.  
  
For once, he wasn't shaking with terror or uncertainty, though his face was devoid of color. His lips pressed together as he caught Harry's eye. Hermione and Ron watched the silent exchange between the two – then they began to push closer to Neville, just as Harry jumped down from the table he'd been standing on (along with Terry and Hannah) and headed toward Longbottom, gesturing lightly for the other two to continue.  
  
Most of the room was now focused on the four gathering together in the corner, and whispers began to raise the noise level as students contemplated what had caused the interruption. Terry watched as Hermione paled and began to shake her head. She stepped backward, stumbling a little, though Neville managed to get an arm behind her and prevent her from falling. Obviously stunned, she didn't notice the help, and even leaned in a bit closer to the other boy for support.  
  
Harry's lips pressed together firmly as Neville finished speaking, and after a moment he nodded and glanced back at the room. His gaze met Ron's briefly – his friend nodded slightly and tilted his head toward the table. Harry returned the gesture, then walked back to the table, climbing on and holding up a hand to gain everyone's attention – though he already had it.  
  
Harry closed his eyes for a moment, exhaled slowly, then lifted his lashes. He surveyed the expectant, slightly worried faces of those who looked up at him, then began quietly, "I have some bad news..."  
  
Hermione gasped in shock as she finally realized she was leaning into Neville, and she quickly jerked away, flushed with embarrassment. Ron hissed at her to be quiet.  
  
"...Neville Longbottom has just informed me that he received an owl from his grandmother. ...It seems that the Death Eaters that had been sent to Azkaban last spring have escaped."  
  
Loud gasps and cries of shock and fear were heard around the room as friends reached out to clasp hands, seeking support. Harry watched everyone grimly, then continued "In addition... the Dark Mark was seen in the sky over the prison. And... over Diagon Alley. At the same time."  
  
A few of the younger girls began to cry, and Harry pressed his lips together grimly as he watched the news affect the group of students who'd been so eager to fight against the Dark Lord only minutes before. This had been a bad idea; they obviously weren't prepared for the reality of the situation.  
  
"In light of this new information, I believe we should cancel this meeting and carefully consider how – or if – we're going to proceed."  
  
"No!" Luna Lovegood stalked up to the table and climbed on, facing the room defiantly. "We all came here to learn how to stand up to You-Know- Who. We said that we didn't want the horror to happen all over again. We said that we were going to prevent it. Now, at the first small bit of reality, we're going to bail? No, damnit! We have to learn how to fight – otherwise the Humping Green Orangutangs will do it for us, and they will claim the right to govern the wizarding world!" At the last few words, Harry stifled a groan of frustration. She'd been doing so well..  
  
Amidst slight snickers of surprise and amusement, a small voice piped up solemnly. "She's right, you know." It was Hermione.  
  
Slowly she walked forward, until she faced everyone. "Not about the Orangutangs, of course – I don't believe those exist, Luna, I'm sorry. But... she's right about everything else. We came here to prepare ourselves for what we thought might come. Now we know it's coming. This changes nothing, other than that we ought to train even harder than we'd initially planned. Our parents tried to deal with You-Know-Who, and they failed. That means that it's up to us. I, for one, don't to give up now."  
  
Murmurs of agreement – and some of disagreement – rippled through the crowd, until finally Ginny Weasley stepped forward. "I'm staying. I do not intend to be a victim again."  
  
Again, whispers floated through the room, but no one else stepped forward – until Justin Finch-Fletchley took a deep breath and moved to stand next to Ginny, facing Harry, Hannah and Terry. "Neither do I."  
  
Colin Creevy joined the other two, dragging his little brother with him. "Us either! We're staying!"  
  
Harry began to relax, a smile of thanks given to the lot of them as more and more people decided to step forward. Ron moved up behind him "Harry..."  
  
Harry glanced behind him, lifting a brow. "Yeah?"  
  
"I think they've decided they want to learn something. Intend on helpin' 'em with that any time soon?" Ron grinned.  
  
"Oh. Yeah."  
  
Hannah nodded slightly, then lifted her chin and raised her voice. "Alright! Everyone who wishes to stay, find a partner – someone of similar learning experience! Those of you who wish to go, please do so – with no disagreements or judgements from the rest of us. We all have a choice to make here, and we're all free to make it."  
  
The room began to buzz as people began picking partners with renewed excitement. Harry glanced at Terry, whose face was screwed up into a rather intense frown. "Something wrong?"  
  
"Hmm? Oh. No... just... well, I bet that's why Malfoy isn't here."  
  
Harry lifted his brows in surprise, then frowned himself. "You're probably right. Think he went home to his dad?"  
  
"That'd be my best guess." Terry shrugged as he replied, his gaze following Hannah around the room as she checked to make certain everyone had a partner.  
  
After a bit of thought, Harry nodded and shook his head. "I had hoped he'd stay."  
  
Terry said nothing, though he looked at Potter a bit oddly.  
  
"Ah, well. We'd better get started. We've a lot to accomplish, and I have a rather horrid feeling that we're going to need more time than we'll be alotted."  
  
* * * 


	3. Chapter 3

* * *  
  
Hermione flopped down on a sofa in the uncommonly empty common room (most everyone had already stumbled into exhausted slumber), groaning as she banged her elbow against the armrest. "Ouch, damnit. That hurt. Everything hurts. Remind me again why we're doing this, Harry?"  
  
He looked over at her with outraged astonishment. "Hermione, it was your idea to start this all up in the first place!" As he spoke, he dropped himself next to her, removing his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose.  
  
She flushed, "Yeah, I know – it's just...we started three months ago. I didn't think that they'd all still be so – so careless with the knowledge."  
  
Ron didn't bother waiting to find a couch or a chair – he just stepped into the room and crumpled to the floor, forehead resting on his arms. "'S magic, Herm-ny – powerful stuff. O`course they're careless. It'so much more fun tha' way." The words were slurred and muffled, and it became quite obvious that Ron wasn't expecting a response when a soft snore followed his words.  
  
Harry grinned despite himself. "It looks like Luna wore him out."  
  
Hermione giggled a little and shifted to face Harry on the sofa. "Did you see her attempt at conjuring water above his head?! She got confused and dropped 10 liters of sludge over him! I thought he was going to wring her neck."  
  
Smiling at the remembered image, Harry nodded and closed his eyes. "Yes, well. She's getting better. They all are, I think. How's Neville doing?" He didn't look up as he mentioned Hermione's study partner, and thus missed the rather becoming blush that tinted her cheeks.  
  
"Quite well, honestly, Harry. I truly believe that the wand he'd been using just wasn't right for him – his grandmother had insisted he use his father's old one, but when it broke he went to Ollivander's for a new one. He's picking things up really quickly, so his confidence is increasing. The only problem is that if he makes just one small mistake, he's worthless for the rest of the session. He can't get past it."  
  
"Oh. Is that how you're ending up so bruised?" He finally opened his eyes and looked over at Hermione, who nodded.  
  
"Yes. We were trying a protection spell, and he got confused and made one tiny mistake – and suddenly he couldn't seem to complete anything but a reflective counter when I attacked. So I kept getting the backlash." She sighed ruefully and offered Harry a small smile. "It's my own fault, though. I ought to be able to stop it, but I was so worried about giving Neville instructions that I kept forgetting to duck."  
  
Harry considered her words a moment, then met her gaze, holding it intently. "You're spending quite a bit of time with Neville lately, aren't you?"  
  
"Yes, and?"  
  
"And... so... what's going on between you two?" He ventured forward with an easy grin, giving her the option to deflect his question.  
  
Hermione treated the question as seriously as she treated everything, but when quite a few minutes had passed she responded with a rather simple "I'm not certain."  
  
Harry watched her for a few moments, then stifled a yawn and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her against him. "Well – if I know you, Hermione – and I do – I'm confident that you'll figure it all out soon enough." His hand sifted through her hair, the movements gentle and soothing, and she closed her eyes, snuggling closer.  
  
"Mmm. I will. Eventually." She didn't hear his response, having quietly drifted to sleep while lying in his arms.  
  
Time passed slowly, until finally Harry's eyelids slid downward.  
  
The dark hall was full of dust and grime – the air was stale and cold. Dim, flickering candles provided the only relief from the stark nothingness that seemed to exist just three feet before him. Suddenly a harsh, vibrating scream ripped through the darkness; a hot gust of air seemed to move with it, as if the two were part of one large wave; unbroken, powerful and full of immense malevolence. The candles flickered out, leaving absolute darkness. He stilled completely, hearing only the harsh sound of his own frightened panting – until a soft, dreadful hissing began to tease his ears. It wasn't close – nor far away. A rustle to his right caused him to turn his head quickly, his eyes peering anxiously but blindly into the absolute absence of light. And then – a breath of air caressed his cheek, and his eyes widened as it seemed two dark orbs appeared just before him, reflecting just a hint of illumination from behind him. The light grew slowly, and he inhaled sharply at the scene unfolding before him – until darkness enfolded him once more, and he knew nothing.  
  
Harry thrashed around in his sleep; the racing of his heart and his strangled cry roused Hermione instantly. She sat up, her eyes wide as she took note of her friend's panicked expression. When his eyes remained closed and he tilted his head back against the sofa, she bit her lip and brushed her hand against his cheek.  
  
"Harry," she whispered softly. "Are you okay?"  
  
When she received no response whatsoever, she turned quickly and hissed toward the boy on the floor, accompanying her summons with a pillow thrown directly at his head. Ron lifted his head leisurely, yawning as he considered his whereabouts.  
  
"Ron!" The whisper was a bit louder this time, and the boy slid a hand through his red hair.  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
Another pillow smacked the tall boy in the face.  
  
"Hey, damnit!" He looked around quickly, his bloodshot eyes glaring semi- threateningly in Hermione's direction. Until she tilted her head toward Harry, that is. Ron took one look at his friend and moved quickly to his feet, speaking calmly but commandingly. "Hermione, move away from him. Slowly. Get off the sofa and stand over here."  
  
She gave him an odd look, but obeyed without question. When she'd reached Ron's side, he approached Harry slowly, speaking softly. "Harry? It's Ron. You're at Hogwarts, Harry. Remember? Come on back, you aren't supposed to be there. Come on, Harry... "  
  
Finally, it dawned on Hermione that her friend's mind could very well be possessed by Voldemort at this precise moment, just as he'd been the night the snake had attacked Ron's father. She began to shake with fear – not for herself, but for Harry. Ron seemed to sense her anxiety and reached a hand back to squeeze hers reassuringly. Hermione took a deep breath, seeming to receive comfort from the touch, and she stilled, watching as Ron continued to coax Harry back to reality.  
  
Finally, his eyelids fluttered and he looked up at the two of them. Realization dawned immediately, and he closed his eyes tightly, speaking flatly, "It happened again, Ron, didn't it?"  
  
His friend hesitated only a moment before replying rather fatalistically, "Yeah, Harry. It did. You okay?"  
  
Harry considered this a moment, then laughed a bit bitterly. "Oh, certainly. I'm wonderful. And you?"  
  
Hermione bit her lip at the cynical tone. "We're fine, Harry. Nothing happened. Do you remember what you saw?"  
  
The question resulted in various images flying through his mind – but not long enough for him to piece anything together. With a growl of sheer frustration, Harry jumped to his feet and hurried to his room, his murmured apology lingering in the quiet room as he closed the door behind him.  
  
Ron shook his head wearily, "Poor bastard."  
  
Hermione said nothing. There wasn't anything to say.  
  
* * *  
  
The next morning, the entire school was in an uproar – not because anyone had been hurt, or because there was news of Voldemort, or even because Peeves had played an incredibly cruel prank that resulted in half the student population transfiguring the other half into barnyard animals. No, the reason for the furor was rather simple; Colin Creevy had discovered that - with Professor Dumbledore's permission and support - Draco Malfoy, son of escaped Death Eater Lucius Malfoy, had returned to Hogwarts.  
  
Gryffindor's common room rang with curses and complaints that Dumbledore needed to be committed to St. Mungo's at first opportunity. While everyone seemed angry and troubled, only Hermione, Ron and Harry appeared grim. They didn't say much, and didn't want to cause speculation by leaving the room, so they continued to stare at each other rather intently.  
  
Neville noticed this odd behavior rather quickly, and nudged Ginny, who happened to be sitting next to him. She watched for a moment, her brows furrowing lightly, then shook her head. Now wasn't a good time to discuss it, not with everyone around. He picked up on her silent message, saying nothing, although he continued to watch the trio discreetly.  
  
Perhaps fifteen minutes later, Hermione stretched purposefully and suggested that everyone get dressed and head down to breakfast. As soon as people began to move, Ron and Harry headed off to their room; when Neville and Ginny spotted Hermione heading discreetly in the same direction, they followed. Lurking behind them was Dean Thomas – Ginny's boyfriend – who was concerned after observing those two watching the others for the past half hour.  
  
The door closed behind Hermione, and Ginny knelt down in front of the door, pulling out an Extendable Ear that she'd gotten from Fred and George.  
  
"What are you doing?" Dean hissed quietly.  
  
Neville and Ginny immediately pulled him down next to them, and she whispered quickly, "We're listening to Harry, Ron and Hermione. Shh! You'll have to share with me." She leaned against him, balancing herself in his embarce as she handed Neville her spare Ear. The three barely breathed as they struggled to hear the conversation in the room.  
  
"Don't worry, Harry, I'm sure it's nothing. Probably just a coincidence" said Ron, ever the optimist.  
  
"...I'm not so sure. We should learn everything we can. Think back, Harry, do you remember seeing Malfoy at all?"  
  
"I don't know, damnit! I have no idea; I can't remember it!" Harry's voice was anguished, frustrated. Dean shivered as worry tightened his gut.  
  
"Keep that up, and you'll be bald before you hit twenty." Ron's light joke seemed to not have been received very well, if the loud, amplified crash that caused the three eavesdroppers to wince in pain was Harry's response.  
  
"I'm going to be dead before I'm twenty, Ron! Do you think I fucking care what my hair is going to look like!"  
  
Hermione's horrified gasp was echoed by Ginny, Dean and Neville. "Harry! Don't you dare say such a thing."  
  
For once, Harry didn't seem at all repentant. "Why not, Hermione? It's the truth, isn't it? I've been heading for my death since the moment Voldemort tried to kill me – and you know it!"  
  
Hermione sniffled, and Ron seemed to have had enough. "That's quite enough, Harry. This situation sucks, and we all know it, but making Hermione cry isn't going to help anything. Get over the self pity and meet us downstairs. Don't bother coming if you're not willing to lose the attitude. We supported you through it last year, but it's time to grow the fuck up."  
  
Ron easily ignored Hermione's protest, grabbing her around the wrist and tugging her to the door. After turning the knob, he glanced back, his anger dying just a little as he stared at his best friend. "You aren't going to die unless you give up, Harry. But only you can make that decision for yourself. When you make it, find us. We'll be around. We'll always be around."  
  
Having said his piece, Ron left the room, dragging Hermione with him. After the door closed he leaned back against the wall and lifted a brow. "You can come out now, Ginny."  
  
A soft curse preceeded a head of red hair around the closest corner, followed by a rueful-looking Dean and an obviously embarrssed Neville. "How did you know?"  
  
"Some of your hair was showing beneath the door. Well, that, and you suck at eavesdropping. You all made quite a bit of noise."  
  
"He's so reckless!" Hermione's words came out of nowhere, and Ron sighed softly as he watched her stare at the closed door that Harry hid behind.  
  
"He'll be alright, Hermione. He just needs a few minutes. Don't worry so much."  
  
"You could stand to worry a little more! You act like there's nothing wrong! Harry needs –" Hermione's furious tirade was interrupted quickly by a rather livid Ron.  
  
"Harry needs to not be treated like a poor, motherless orphan who had a miserable childhood and lives at Death's door!"  
  
Hermione looked at Ron, bewildered and upset. "But he is –"she began.  
  
"No! No, Hermione! He. Is. NOT! Harry grew up, have you missed the bulletin? He isn't a child anymore, and he can't afford to be coddled." His voice, which had been loud and furious, softened as he took Hermione in his arms, squeezing gently. "We won't always be there for him, Hermione – as much as we want to, it just isn't possible. He has to rely on himself. He can't do that if we're sugar-coating things for him. What's more, he doesn't even want us to. He's just scared right now, and I sure as hell don't blame him. Hell, I'm scared."  
  
She closed her eyes, ignoring her rather uncomfortable audience for a few moments. "So am I..."  
  
Silence reigned for a minute or so, until Neville broke it nervously – as if he didn't really want to speak, but felt forcefully compelled to do so. "Harry will be okay, Hermione. He... he has strength, more than he even knows. My – my father was like that. But Harry's stronger than he ever was. He'll be okay." As speeches go, it wasn't a chart topper, but Hermione smiled a little anyway, sliding out of Ron's arms to embrace Neville thankfully. She could tell it had been hard for him to say such things. Ginny leaned back against Dean as she watched, gaining comfort from his solid presence behind her.  
  
Ron scowled a little, but said nothing. Upon releasing Neville, Hermione squared her shoulders and swiped quickly at her eyes, releasing a long breath. "Well. Okay, then. Breakfast, anyone?"  
  
"...I'd like some." The soft, hesitant voice belonged to Harry, who stood in the open doorway, his green eyes pleading for understanding.  
  
Hermione offered him a smile and moved up on tiptoes to brush her lips against his cheek – forgiveness granted. As she moved away, Ron glanced at Harry sardonically. "So that's how you reel 'em in, eh, Harry? Temper tantrums and pretty little apologies?"  
  
Both boys laughed as Ron shoved Harry down the hall. "Shut up, Ron."  
  
Hermione and Ginny glanced at each other as Neville and Dean moved ahead of them, slapping the other two boys on the back. "Men," murmured Hermione, with disgust.  
  
"Boys," Ginny corrected, and the two laughed and followed the others to breakfast, gratefully pushing worries, fears and specualtions to the back of their minds. There were more important things in life.  
  
* * *  
  
Draco sat on his bed, leaning on the backboard, his head tilted against the wall as he stared at the ceiling. He'd done it. He was back at Hogwarts, inside. Shielded, protected, hidden. Slytherin welcomed him back, of course – not that they had much choice. Of course, he couldn't trust them. Not one. He wasn't certain which ones had parents involved with the Dark Lord, and which ones didn't.  
  
Slowly his lashes lowered, and a soft sigh escaped his lips. Nothing had changed, yet everything had changed. He had to pretend to be the person that he was, or used to be, or vice versa. Or... hell, he didn't know anymore. Didn't know who the fuck he was, what the fuck he was supposed to do.  
  
Life had been so much easier when he'd had one goal alone – to please his father. Now that wasn't an option, and he was so horribly lost. It was torture knowing that – knowing that he had no true purpose, that he had so little control over his own thoughts and actions. What was worse was that he was every inch a Malfoy – and to a Malfoy, control was simply everything.  
  
He felt worthless; he could hear his father's words echoing in his head. You're weak, Draco. You'll never learn, Draco. You don't understand the ways of the world, and I don't think you're even capable of it. You disappoint me, Draco – you're no true Malfoy.  
  
With a slight groan, his long, slim hands raked through his blonde hair.  
  
He'd prove his father wrong. He owed it to him to be better.  
  
He was a Malfoy.  
  
He was.  
  
* * *  
  
He stood utterly still, purposely controlling his breathing, anxious to hide his uncertainty. Something to his left shifted, jolting his side, but he didn't bother to look. His eyes remained locked on the stone floor, his hands curled into fists at his sides. A sticky moisture began to slide against his skin, but he barely noticed. No... no, don't. You can't ask this. You can't do this. His thoughts seemed like screams, aching and desperate and pleading for help - but there was no response. The force of his will went ignored. And he watched . . .  
  
* * *  
  
Harry leaned forward in his chair, his green eyes wide with shock. "You have to be kidding me, Professor Dumbledore! With his history..."  
  
"Harry... you must learn that there is no black and white in this life. There are many, many shades of gray. Sometimes people do the right thing, for the wrong reasons. Should it matter, though? If the end is accomplished, do the means have any consequence whatsoever?  
  
"I cannot tell you the correct answer; you must decide that for yourself." Dumbledore rested his folded hands atop his desk, his gaze steady.  
  
"Professor, please... it's not that I don't trust your word, it's just... " Harry trailed off, not even certain what it was he wanted to say.  
  
"Harry. Do you think that your own father was perfect? Are you perfect? Are your friends? Have you not known anyone who's ever made mistakes? I do not believe in judging people whose circumstances have dictated who they've become. Especially when they are not yet old enough to be set in their ways."  
  
The young Gryffindor sighed and rubbed his temples wearily. "You believe I should give him a chance." It wasn't exactly a question.  
  
"Yes. If you don't, no one will. Keep in mind, too, Harry, that this is what you wanted at the beginning of the year."  
  
"I know. I know, it just... it seems suspect."  
  
The aging Headmaster smiled a little, "Of course it does, Harry. It is suspect. I suppose it comes down to weighing things out and hoping for the best."  
  
Harry looked at his mentor incredulously, "'Hoping for the best'! Professor, this isn't exactly just a House rivalry. It's a war!"  
  
Dumbledore just smiled serenely. "Not much difference, then. There's still hatred and manipulations and lies – and those few who try to take the others for what they are instead of the name of their House.  
  
"Now, if you'll excuse me, Harry. I've just received my complimentary gift from the Weasley twin's joke shop, and I'm quite anxious to try out the Enchanted Pogo Stick. Do have a good evening."  
  
Harry grinned despite himself, wished the Headmaster good luck, and slipped out, thinking intently.  
  
* * *  
  
The heavy door to the Room of Requirement closed behind the rather morose young man who stepped inside, green eyes flashing lightly as he glanced around once, briefly. His gaze was quick, but penetrating, and Draco inhaled sharply.  
  
"Potter? What the hell are you doing here!" Draco immediately reached for his wand, his free hand clenched at his side. He may have changed allegiences, but that did not mean that he liked or supported Potter.  
  
"You won't need that, just yet. And I'm here because I asked you to come." Harry spoke quietly, stepping slowly into the dim lighting, the reflection bouncing gently off his glasses as he turned his head, hands lifted to show he intended no threat.  
  
Malfoy hissed slowly, his stance not changing in the least. He'd been taught how to betray, and as such how to avoid betrayal. He didn't trust Potter one meter. Not one damned meter.  
  
"The fuck were you thinking, ordering me around, Potter? I'm more than half tempted to turn you into a garden gnome just for presuming to think that you deserve any bit of my precious time." The words were spat at him, full of anger and distrust and perhaps just a small bit of sheer, overwhelming confusion.  
  
Again, the reply was soft, calm. It wasn't threatening, accusing or pitying in the least. "It wasn't an order, it was a request. One I knew you wouldn't respond to if you'd known I was behind it. Will you hear me out, please?"  
  
Draco narrowed his silver gaze, tilting his head a bit to keep a loose strand of hair from blocking his eyes. His jaw tightened, lifted. "You have 15 seconds, Potter. Time's wasting."  
  
Harry nodded, replying simply, his arms remaining lifted near his shoulders, wand hidden from view. "I need your help."  
  
Draco couldn't hide his astonishment immediately; it took a second, perhaps two. But hide it he did, and concealed it with slow, mocking laughter. "Oh, certainly, Potter. I'd be overjoyed to help you, us being such good friends and all."  
  
"I'm not kidding, Malfoy. There's something I have to prepare for, and you're the only person whom I can think of who could do it right."  
  
The Slytherin laughed maliciously, lifting a brow in feigned innocence. "I don't believe I heard you. Come again, Potter?"  
  
Harry took a deep breath, releasing it very slowly. Only the white lines shadowing his tense jawline and the throbbing at his left temple visibly indicated how much he despised having to ask Malfoy, of all people, for a favor. Unfortunately, he just didn't see another way. He'd realized that Professor Dumbledore had a point; everyone deserved a second chance. More importantly – as much as he hated to admit it - he needed Draco.  
  
"I said, Malfoy... that I need help, and you're the only person I know who is capable of doing it correctly." This time the words revealed no small amount of impatience, though his tone remained calm.  
  
The small signs of tension were betrayed easily to the Slytherin's trained gaze, and inwardly he released a breath. If this was so difficult for 'poor' Potter, then it wasn't anything as simple as a trap or attempt to leak false information.  
  
After a few moment's silence, Draco grinned and shook his head. "Cat got your tongue, Potter? I haven't heard an explanation yet."  
  
Harry pressed his lips together, and finally Draco saw the anger in those forest green eyes. He smirked as Potter tucked his balled fists into his pockets, an obvious sign of someone trying desperately hard not to swing on someone. Much better. This he was used to. This, he understood.  
  
"Apparently so. The Dark Lord must have stolen a bit more than just a few dreams, Potter. It seems you've lost a bit of your sanity, as well – standing there mute when you're clearly expected to form some sort of reply."  
  
Draco's laugh was cut off abruptly as Harry's hands grasped his shirt, right near the collarbone. The Gryffindor used his body to force the taller boy backward, completely ignoring the wand still pointed in his direction as he slammed Malfoy against the wall, holding him there with the weight of his torso pressed against the Slytherin's, arms thrust against the stone wall.  
  
"What the hell do you know about my dreams, Malfoy!"  
  
Furious that he'd been caught off guard, Draco quickly lifted his knee into Potter's groin – he was a Malfoy. He played to win. Mere seconds after Harry doubled over in pain, Draco had his wand tucked in his waistband, and both hands gripped the other boy's wrists, holding them painfully up behind his back.  
  
Harry shuddered, his entire body thrust against the jagged stones, glasses askew as he struggled in Draco's hold.  
  
"Let go, you bloody git!" Draco smiled with satisfaction – it was rare to hear such absolute fury in Potter's voice, and yet know that the other boy was helpless.  
  
"Hush, now, Potter. Your time is up, and I really can't stay. If you wanted to finish your request, I suggest you do it. Now." The voice that had begun soft and taunting ended with such cold finality that Harry squeezed his eyes in horror. He must be absolutely fucking mad to even think about asking Malfoy to do this. The Slytherin was no better than Voldemort, himself!  
  
But – if he didn't do this, he wouldn't get another chance. He knew that, instinctively. Malfoys didn't give second chances. And there wasn't anyone else who could help him. Or at least, no one who would do as he asked, no one who wouldn't go easy on him. Damn it!  
  
Harry kicked Malfoy's shin in sheer frustration, smirking when the other boy yelped, even though this resulted in his forehead being tapped none-too- gently against the wall in retaliation.  
  
"I take it that means you've changed your mind, Potter?" There wasn't even an attempt to hide the anger, this time. Malfoy was furious. Somehow, it was easier this way.  
  
Harry took a deep breath, then rushed out quickly. "IneedyoutousetheUnforgivableCursesonme."  
  
Draco blinked once, then again, his hold loosening in sheer shock. Quickly, Harry moved to escape Malfoy's grasp, but he wasn't fast enough. Once again he was thrust painfully against the wall, unable to stifle a slight groan of pain.  
  
"Don't move, Potter!" Draco hissed the words in absolute fury, incensed that he'd let his guard down again.  
  
"I can't, Malfoy, my circulation's nearly cut off as it is!"  
  
At this, the Slytherin glanced at the hold he had of the other boy's wrists. He was right, actually. Draco's grip was awfully tight. He smiled a bit. No matter.  
  
"You'll live, Potter. Now. Tell me again what your request was. I don't believe I heard you correctly the first time."  
  
That was it. The smug, arrogant tone sent Harry right over the edge. With almost no tensing of muscles to suggest his intentions, the Gryffindor raised his right leg until he could hook it behind Draco's. In an almost simultaneous movement, Harry put pressure against the back of Malfoy's knee, causing it to bend reflexively, throwing the other boy off balance just as Harry to tugged on his wrists – one managing to pull free - and whirled around, his fist swinging right for Draco's nose.  
  
Draco howled in pain as Harry's fist connected, and he reared backward, clutching his nose. His eyes watered as Harry stared at him, tense, obviously waiting for a return strike, though his wand had yet to be drawn.  
  
Silence reigned for a few moments, until Harry nearly spat out "I need to prepare to face those curses. I need to resist them, and I need to know how to use them. The way I see it, even Professor Snape wouldn't use them against me. Professor Dumbledore would forbid it. And I don't know anyone else with the background in the Dark Arts that you have. Furthermore, you've just proved that you don't seem to have a problem causing me harm."  
  
Taking note of Draco's stunned expression, Harry seemed to calm, just a bit. Slowly his hands relaxed, one lifting to rifle through his shaggy brown hair. "Think about it. I'll be here tomorrow, same time. If you are willing, show up. If not – don't bother."  
  
Without another word or look, Harry turned and left the room, the door closing softly behind him. Draco remained utterly still, until realizing that his nose was still throbbing painfully. Muttering a curse, he left the room and headed for Madam Pomfrey, his mind carefully blank – deciding not to process the words he'd just heard.  
  
* * *  
  
That night, Harry sat in his room wondering when exactly it was that he'd lost his sanity. For Merlin's sake, what had he been thinking? Draco Malfoy was his least favorite person at Hogwarts.  
  
Sighing in frustration, the dark-haired Gryffindor stood and began to pace around the room he shared with Ron, currently MIA. At the moment, Harry was glad to have the privacy. He could just imagine trying to explain what he'd done to his best friend. The thought caused him to groan, and he flung himself haphazardly into the chair at his desk, determined to distract himself.  
  
Homework to do, right? That'll work. Let's see – there's that Potions project to research. Snape gave it to us after Malfoy –  
  
"Damn it!" Angry with himself for even thinking about the confident blonde, Harry rose to his feet and resumed his pacing, frequently thrusting his fingers through his perpetually mussed hair.  
  
Now that the picture of the other boy was in his mind, it wouldn't seem to fade. With relish, Harry focused on the image of Malfoy's pained howling, clutching his nose and whining like a first year. He began to relax, wondering with an irrepressible grin how the Slytherin planned on explaining the injury to Madam Pomfrey. He wouldn't tell the truth, of course, for to do so would mean admitting he'd been bested by Harry Potter.  
  
Carefully avoiding further thought of the moments where Malfoy had been in control of their encounter, Harry sat down once more and delved determinedly into his Potions homework.  
  
* * *  
  
Draco stalked into the Slytherin dungeon, absolutely furious. His nose was fine, now – he'd managed to convince Madam Pomfrey that he'd been the victim of a ravenous mob of giggling first years, desperate to get his signature. It was a good ploy, one he'd used often – he'd caught her once watching The Spells We Cast via Floo-Vision, a very long-running soap that he'd once made a cameo appearance in. Turns out the woman was rather star struck, though she hid it well most of the time.  
  
The gathering room was empty, which rather disappointed Draco. He badly wanted the distraction of humiliating a witless student. Unfortunately, the only person he even saw on the way to his private room (which he'd obtained by blackmailing his assigned roommate into begging to room with others) was Blaise Zabini, who was most certainly not a witless fool. Annoying, yes. Stupid? No.  
  
"You look rather disturbed, Draco. Something wrong?" Blaise drawled laconically, looking smug as he leaned his shoulder against the wall, arms folded over his chest.  
  
Draco immediately wiped his face clean of all expression, a brow lifting as he murmured calmly "Other than the fact that you have spinach in your teeth, Zabini? Not a thing."  
  
The distraction worked. Blaise immediately turned and hurried to the closest mirror, allowing Draco to walk past him and slip into his room, locking the door behind him.  
  
For a moment he stood utterly still, staring blankly at his richly furnished room. Seconds past before he released a long, slow breath, the hands that had been fisted at his sides relaxing forcibly. A slim, aristocratic hand lifted to brush over his hair, sweeping back the loose strands that fell across his face now that he refrained from slathering it with gel every morning.  
  
Merlin, he hated Harry Potter. How dare he think he could ask a Malfoy for a favor? The stupid fool – it'd serve him right if he did show tomorrow. Did Potter think that trying to work through Unforgivable Curses would be easy, painless?  
  
Hell, it almost made him want to do it, just to see Potter cry. And he would cry. Draco's hands fisted eagerly at the thought. Until recently, his goal had been to see the Boy Who Lived in such pain and misery. And now – the opportunity to do it without even risking his new objective? He couldn't turn it down.  
  
Draco pressed his lips together as he considered this, accepted it, and – in typical Malfoy fashion – began to plan. He didn't pace, or write things down. He knew better than to leave proof of his actions – it had been drummed into him since childhood that in order to manipulate, only one player could hold all the cards.  
  
After quite some time had passed, the exhausted Slytherin slipped silently into bed, confident in the plans he'd made.  
  
* * *  
  
"Try again, Harry." Dumbledore spoke calmly, his tone leaving room for no argument.  
  
Harry refrained from groaning, a hand lifting to rub his temples, his eyes closed wearily. "Please, Professor – this isn't doing any good."  
  
"It is, Harry. You are already stronger. Again."  
  
Once more he pressed his lips together and attempted to blank his mind. That accomplished, he pictures a wall...beginning slowly, brick by brick, until within a few seconds it finished, solid – a circular barrier shielding his thoughts. After holding it for a few moments his lashes fluttered, and he opened his eyes.  
  
Dumbledore stared back at him, and smiled lightly. "How goes the D.A., Harry? Are you Representatives having any problems I would need to know about?"  
  
Harry remained perfectly still – he'd found he'd lose his focus if he relaxed too quickly. Carefully he separated part of his mind – one part keeping the wall in tact, the other processing and responding to the world around him.  
  
"Malfoy wants to restrict membership now that he's returned, but he was shot down pretty quick; you'd said everyone was allowed."  
  
"Hmm. And you've followed my instructions that those below fourth year were not to be taught anything that might even remotely be considered a Dark Art?"  
  
"Of course, Professor." Harry's words were simple, though his tone was rather hesitant. The wall seemed to solidify somehow as their meaningless conversation continued – almost as if reflecting his gathering confidence. Or perhaps exactly as if doing so.  
  
"How do the students progress, thus far? What have you been teaching them?" Dumbledore's words remained as friendly and even as ever, but Harry's wall began to tremble. He grit his teeth and reinforced the bricks, carefully ignoring the images dancing teasingly outside them.  
  
"S..so far, they've done well. Some can be a bit rowdy, but when we threatened to eject them from meetings they calmed down. We... we've worked on Expelliarmus... and... Protego...and..." Harry's eyes were half-closed, his jaw clenched tight as he began to try and 'screen' some of the images Dumbledore projected. His goal was to see them completely, thoroughly – without confusing them with his own thoughts.  
  
"Continue, Harry." The Headmaster's voice was demanding, and Harry's skin began to glisten with effort as he tried to take deep, calming breaths.  
  
"...And Stupefy. We worked hard on that one, as well as Accio – using objects not visible or nearby. In addition, we've begun to teach Impedimenta and various Deflection spells to the older students, while focusing on Alohomora and Flagrate with the younger." Dumbledore's eyes narrowed with satisfaction as Harry continued the conversation with newfound fluidity.  
  
Harry's kept his green eyes locked on Dumbledore's as he continued to speak, though within his mind images of a younger Dumbledore's attempts to master Occulumency resulted in various items shattering when the then- student lost control. The Professor watched as Harry relaxed even further, even smiling a little as he watched the pictures from an outside viewpoint, as opposed to seeing from Dumbledore's eyes. And then the images wavered, changed. Harry's parents, volunteering to fight against Voldemort at an Order of the Phoenix gathering.  
  
The young Gryffindor inhaled sharply as his bricks started to fade, and he went silent as he forced himself to strengthen them. Tears appeared in his eyes as his hands fisted tightly and he tried desperately to pull the image backward and tug away from seeing the scene only from Dumbledore's viewpoint.  
  
A soft, rough sound of exertion emerged from Harry's throat, not that he noticed. Thus, he also missed the intense sadness that passed over his Headmaster's face as he pressed onward, sharpening the images, trying to entice the boy into the deception that he was living the scene. Once again, Harry wavered, and the images flew past him, sucking him in until he could feel the scratchy throat and headache that Professor Dumbledore had at the time.  
  
Watching the Gryffindor fall once more into the trap, Dumbledore leaned back in his seat and prepared to end the transmission, when suddenly Harry shuddered and spoke, his voice trembling, but oddly adamant.  
  
"I'm not you."  
  
"I beg your pardon, Harry?" The Professor leaned forward curiously, uncertain.  
  
"I'm you... I can see what you see and feel what you feel, but I know that I'm not you. Rather... I can sense your emotions and your thoughts, and you can... you can feel my presence, Professor. We aren't merged, we aren't one."  
  
Shocked, the aging Headmaster broke the transmission, his own energy having begun to flag. Quietly he waited until Harry's gaze registered the present reality, though his green eyes seemed slightly glazed.  
  
"Do you remember, Harry?" Taking a deep breath, Harry nodded and glanced at the floor, then back at his mentor.  
  
"I did it, Professor." Tired and dazed, the boy lifted his hands to rub his throbbing temples, though his elation and pride was evident in the grin he gave his teacher.  
  
"'It'?" Dumbledore looked oddly stunned, as if this particular event hadn't been forseen. Which, of course, was the truth.  
  
"I could tell the difference. I was with you, but I wasn't actually you. I knew. I didn't have that before, with Voldemort. Now I do. I have gotten stronger." Harry was excited, and with a small portion of his mind he restored and protected his shield, barely thinking of it consciously.  
  
The Headmaster removed his glasses, wiping them carefully as he leaned back into his chair. After a few moments, he spoke, very slowly.  
  
"Harry... I have never been able to accomplish such a thing. I am only able to watch as a non-existant presence, able to see everything from my point of view – but never from within another. At least, not to where I can recognize and separate it from my own thoughts. You have done extremely well. Congratulations."  
  
He grinned at the praise he received, and stood carefully. "Thank you, Professor. ...Do you think this will help? With Voldemort, I mean?"  
  
Dumbledore nodded, gesturing lightly. "It will help, Harry. I'm not certain to what extent, but it will help. Now – you've worked hard tonight. Go, get some sleep. And do come see me next week. We are not finished."  
  
Harry nodded and hurried toward the Gryffindor dormitory. He couldn't wait to tell Ron and Hermione.  
  
* * *  
  
Harry sighed softly as he trudged up the stairs, humming lightly beneath his breath to distract himself as he headed toward the Room of Requirement, taking his time because there was no way in hell Malfoy would actually show. He was on his own, just as he'd been during his years with the Dursleys – even though there were people physically present, he'd had to fend for himself. It was nothing new.  
  
A hand sifted through his dark hair as he approached the door, smiling a little as he thought of the requirements he'd prepared before suggesting this as a meeting place. Carelessly, he stepped inside the dark room – completely surprised when a quiet, cold voice spoke definitively from the opposite end of the room.  
  
"Entrappe," spoke the voice, and Harry inhaled sharply as a flash of green light blinded him. Moments later his vision cleared, and he growled low in his throat, finding himself pressed back against a stone wall, his wrists bound together and held above his head, somehow holding him stretched so that he could just barely reach the floor.  
  
Several clicking noises accompanied Harry's desperate yanking, and soon three candles flickered delicately in the dark room. The Gryffindor looked over immediately, gasping when he spotted Draco standing at the opposite wall, a rather sadistic smirk creasing his lips.  
  
"The hell do you think you're doing, Malfoy!" It wasn't a question, but a furious exclamation, promising retribution. The response it received was calm, almost soothing in tone.  
  
"What you've asked me to do, Potter. Now hush." Harry stared in disbelief as Draco walked forward, his posture confident as his free hand slid against Harry's hip, caressing lightly. Stunned, the Boy Who Lived parted his lips in a soft exclamation of shock, shaking his head a bit as Malfoy's hand slid over his stomach and caressed the other hip, then patted lightly as he retrieved Harry's wand.  
  
"There we are. You won't be needing this for the next hour, Potter. I'll just keep it for... safekeeping, hmm?"  
  
Harry clenched his jaw tightly, his hands fisted dangerously above his head. "Give it back, Malfoy."  
  
Draco smiled a little, hearing those words echo in his mind, though spoken in a younger, naïve voice. "Ahh, Potter. You really are too trusting. I do hope I'll be useful in curing you of that."  
  
Harry attempted to kick out at Draco, but his balance was almost nonexistent – he only managed to offset himself, causing his body to slam painfully against the wall. Quickly he closed his eyes and inhaled slowly, trying to relax, to think his way out of this. Damn Malfoy, anyway. This isn't what I meant!  
  
Draco laughed maliciously at Harry's inept attempt to attack, then turned and moved to a chair seated perhaps 10 feet from the Gryffindor.  
  
"I've been waiting for this for a long time, Potter. I'm going to relish it. I hope it's everything you wanted – and more." The words were deliberately provoking, and it took every ounce of control Harry had to try and control his anger, trying to keep from giving away his every thought.  
  
Draco saw through the attempt with little effort. "You'll have to do better than that, Potter. The Dark Lord is as powerful as he is because, unlike others who've tried, he understands the emotions of those whom he targets. And make no mistake; even those who are his supporters are still his targets, and he knows them well. You are his greatest enemy, Potter. Trust that he knows you. He knows what you expect, and he knows how to manipulate you. It will be the way you least expect, or perhaps the way you most expect. He'll get at you through Granger or Weasley, or perhaps through me. Perhaps I'm just here because he told me to be here. Have you thought about it, Potter? Have you considered every angle? I highly doubt it. Had you, you'd never have been stupid enough to meet me alone. I intend to see that you regret it." He paused, silver gaze locked with forest green. After a moment, the Slytherin lifted his wand toward the softly panting Gryffindor.  
  
"Scared, Potter? No?" Harry remained utterly silent, desperately trying to decide where Malfoy was heading with his charming little speech. Draco saw the calculation, and shook his head. "Try harder, Potter, you're giving it all away."  
  
Once again, Draco watched Harry's every emotion flicker and throb from those revealing green eyes. Taking a deep breath, the youngest Malfoy steadied his wand and spoke firmly "Crucio."  
  
Harry jerked immediately as the green flash hit his chest, flinging him back against the stone wall. An agonized groan escaped his throat as his entire body began to tremble with pain. He felt as if he'd had liquid metal poured down his throat – he could feel the searing melting of his flesh, taste the metallic flavor of his own blood, hear his own whimpers as he struggled desperately for air, unable to breathe past the agonizing ball of desolation that filled his lungs. And beyond it all, he heard Draco's soft, mocking laughter. Hatred filled him, reminding him of his intentions, and that small flicker of light in his world of torture called to him. No. No, not like this. Fight it. Stop it, damnit, you can do this. Block it out... Merlin, please, block it out! Make it stop!  
  
The pain vanished and Harry fell limply against the wall, no longer noticing the rough scrape of rope that kept him erect.  
  
"How are we, Potter? I went easy on you – it is your first time, and all." Cool, polished wood lifted his chin, and dazed green eyes tried desperately to focus on the boy standing before him.  
  
"You... are going... to die... Malfoy..." The words were torn from Harry's throat, and as they escaped he found he could breathe, and for a moment the only sound in the room was his own shuddering gasps.  
  
"Yes... I expect I will, Potter. Life is a fatal condition, you know."  
  
Draco stared intently at Harry, his silver gaze roaming over the other boy's form, taking note of the trembling that Potter just couldn't conceal, the faint outline of his ribs as he sucked in air, the small rivulets of blood that fell along Harry's wrists from gouges created by his own nails. After a few silent, tense moments, Malfoy nodded and met Harry's eyes.  
  
"Not bad, Potter. Again. And this time, I'm not stopping when I think you've had enough. Crucio."  
  
It was the only warning he received before the nauseating waves rolled through him again and he cried out, just once – a sharp cry borne of anger, not pain. Once again his breath was taken from him, his body trying desperately to curl up in on itself as his vision went black, and his world existed only because he could feel the pain and the agony – it was all life was, really. Pain and torture and misery abounding atop one another repeatedly, until you had no will in you to fight it off, anyway.  
  
Tears began to slide down Harry's cheeks, and Draco inhaled sharply. His wand wavered, but didn't move, and he found himself whispering intently, "There... right there. Now you know... you know what it is, so you can fight it. Do you see it?"  
  
But the boy before him just shuddered violently, and Draco shivered. Not again, I don't want to do this - not again! And suddenly the pain was gone, and the ropes disappeared. Harry collapsed to the ground, his face red from lack of air as he panted heavily, tears continuing to leak unchecked over his soft skin, falling almost soundlessly to the cold stone floor.  
  
For an entire minute, neither boy moved. Draco stared at Harry, his lips parted lightly, breathing so hard he felt like he'd been running a marathon – until finally Harry opened his eyes and lifted his head to stare unflinchingly up at the other boy. Draco held his gaze for mere moments before whispering softly, "Now you know."  
  
Harry's lashes lowered, and seconds later the click of the door closing indicated that he was now alone.  
  
* * *  
  
Outside the Room of Requirement, Draco bent over and closed his eyes, desperately trying to bring himself under control. I didn't do it. I stopped it, I went back on my word. Oh, Merlin... I've done it, I've started it. If he knows... ah, hell, if he knows... Dropping Harry's wand just outside the door, Draco quickly turned and headed for the doors, not remotely caring that he wasn't allowed out this late. It didn't matter. He couldn't breathe. If he could just get out...  
  
In the garden, he collapsed to his knees, digging his hands in the dirt – as if doing so would ground him, steady him. It didn't – it couldn't. Nothing could. He shouldn't have done this, but how could he not? He'd been warned – Merlin, not enough. I wasn't warned of this! I wasn't told, I'm not prepared. And I can't stop it, now. Father, help me, please...  
  
Within the room, the young boy whose destiny had been marked long ago slowly pushed himself to his feet. His pale cheeks remained stained by the tracks of his tears, his lower lip cut where his teeth had dug in, blood drying on his strong hands – but perhaps the greatest reminder of the past hour was the bleak knowledge that shone from his green eyes.  
  
Late that night, two Hogwarts students stumbled to their dorms and shut themselves in their rooms. One stared at the ceiling, his mind a hollow shell with nothing but fear, desperation and bleak determination bouncing repeatedly off its walls. The other buried his head beneath his pillow and tried to forget his failure, his weakness, his choices. Neither slept, and come dawn, each had a resolution backed by such profound determination that Hogwarts had never seen its like before.  
  
* * * 


	4. Chapter 4

* * *  
  
"Harry, we're going to be late for breakfast!" Ron had been trying to wake up his roommate for a good twenty minutes. "Get out of bed!"  
  
"Whadda you care?" Harry murmured from beneath his pillow. He still hurt from the Cruciatus curse Malfoy had used last night. On top of that, he hadn't managed to get much sleep. Most of his night had been spent alternately berating himself for being such an idiot, or convincing himself that he was stronger than any stupid Slytherin. He'd vowed to make Malfoy feel ten times the pain he had suffered.  
  
Unusually anxious to get downstairs, Ron – who had already showered and dressed - walked over and grabbed Harry's covers, yanking them off and tossing them to the floor. "Get up, you lazy arse! They're announcing the players for the Hogwarts/Durmstrang Quidditch match, and we need to be there."  
  
"Mngrmmph, "Harry mumbled as he brought his knees up, trying to shield his bare chest from the chill by burrowing himself into the mattress.  
  
"Honestly, Harry – I'd think you'd be a bit more excited. You're sure to be picked! ...I only hope that I at least end up as the alternate Keeper..." The wistfulness in Ron's voice caused Harry to sigh tragically and slowly remove the pillow from over his head. His bloodshot eyes looked up at his friend as he attempted a reassuring smile, although it came out looking much more like a grimace.  
  
"You'll make it as the starting Keeper, Ron. I know you will." That said, the pillow moved quickly over the Gryffindor Seeker's face once more. Unfortunately, Ron had already gotten a good look at the dark circles beneath his eyes and the lines of stress on his weary face.  
  
"You look like hell, Harry," he said cheerfully, his confidence restored by his friend's support.  
  
"...You're too kind, Weasley." The sardonic remark was muffled, but quite distinguishable.  
  
Ron grinned. "Harry, you absolutely have to get out of bed. You need a shower before breakfast – you stink. What were you doing last night - rolling around in a trough?"  
  
Harry just groaned and squeezed his eyes closed tightly. "Shut up, you annoying git! For the love of all things Quidditch, will you please let me sleep in peace?"  
  
"Sorry, ol' pal, but this is for your own good." With the words came a slight grunt – it was the only warning Harry had before his mattress was tipped over and he was flung to the floor with an impressively loud thump.  
  
"...Ron..." The name was drawled out threateningly against the floor as the bruised boy slowly began to shift, one hand feeling up against his night stand for his glasses.  
  
Ron grinned again and tossed a towel atop his friend's head. "Yes, good one, Harry - my name is Ron! And now that we've got that all cleared up, it's time to shower. Quickly, now! Up!"  
  
Harry stood slowly, his glasses tilted sideways on his nose, his loose cotton pajama bottoms having slid down to expose the slight protrusion of his hip bones, his dark brown hair standing straight up in some places and pressed flatly to his head in others. He stared at Ron a moment, then sighed, his shoulders slumping as he muttered ruefully, "You're very irritating. And I'm too tired to hit you. Rain check?"  
  
"Sure. Now go! Before Thomas gets in the bathroom and fogs it up getting all dolled up for my sister." The last words sounded rather irritable, although it was mostly for show. He had to do the protective older brother thing, although he'd come to realize that Dean wasn't an ass and intended to treat Ginny well. After all, as Dean had put it when he'd visited over the summer – what kind of idiot would treat such a wonderful girl like crap... especially when she had six unpredictable older brothers?  
  
After half-heartedly tossing a book at Ron's feet – he'd been aiming for his head – Harry trudged slowly toward the door. Leaning against the doorway was Hermione, who was grinning in amusement and shaking her head.  
  
"Are you certain you two are sixth years?"  
  
Harry just smiled a little as he walked past, bending to brush his lips against her forehead in greeting before heading to the bathroom at a snail's pace. Ron frowned a bit at Harry's action, then realized what Hermione'd said.  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?" he stuttered belligerently. She just laughed and headed over to Harry's bed, gathering up the sheets that were scattered everywhere.  
  
"Look at this room, Ron! It's atrocious – and the House Elves work so hard to keep it clean. You make them do so much extra work...it's truly unkind of you. And very adolescent."  
  
Ron just groaned and flung his hands up in the air. "Not this again, Hermione, please! I have enough on my mind..."  
  
At his words she paused, then turned and walked to the door, closing it and affixing it with a silencing charm. She gave him a beseeching look, and he stared back unflinchingly. Finally, her gaze broke off and drifted to the floor, and she began to move about the room, tidying everything in sight.  
  
"...He didn't look so good, Ron."  
  
"I know, Hermione...I know." He raked a hand through his hair and looked over at her somewhat anxiously. "Do you think... do you think he's having the same problems we did?" He sat down dejectedly on his own bed, watching her scurry around the room, cleaning. She always did that when she was nervous or upset – if she couldn't study her way out of things, she cleaned.  
  
Hermione paused for a moment, then continued to place books back on the shelves, dusting almost obsessively. "I think the answer to that is fairly obvious. We know he's had a few strange dreams, and – hell, you saw him. I doubt he slept more than five full minutes at a time last night. Help me with the mattress."  
  
"But Harry said that he'd done really well in Occlumency yesterday. Even Dumbledore said he wasn't as good as Harry is! He ought to be able to block it..." Ron stood and moved over to Harry's bed, bending and lifting the mattress back in place with little effort.  
  
She nodded, fitting the sheets in place distractedly, "...I know...but..."  
  
Ron interrupted suddenly. "Why don't you just use magic for that?" He gestured lightly to the bed she was making by hand.  
  
Hermione glanced down, then shrugged briefly. "It helps me think."  
  
After a moment he nodded, although his look suggested that he thought she was a bit on the strange side. It wasn't the first time she'd seen that look directed at her, and she was positive it wouldn't be the last.  
  
"Regardless, Ron... there's always the chance that the dreams are not visions sent by Voldemort."  
  
He controlled the instinctive flinch that always seemed to follow hearing the Dark Lord's name and lifted a brow skeptically. "Do you honestly believe that, Hermione?"  
  
"No."  
  
"...Then why even suggest it?"  
  
At his words she sighed and began fluffing Harry's pillows. "Possibly because I want it to be that way. He doesn't need this, Ron – he's got too much else to deal with. I mean, first Voldemort-"  
  
Ron cut her off abruptly. "Quit saying his name, damnit!"  
  
Irritated by the sudden attack, Hermione put her hands on her hips and glared at him. "Voldemort. It's not difficult to say. Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort!"  
  
"She's right, you know. That is how you pronounce his name, Ron. It's quite simple." Harry had pushed the door open, his towel draped around his neck, though one hand was still rubbing some of the cloth against his moist, spiky hair.  
  
Hermione wrinkled her nose as Ron rolled his eyes. "I had a silencing charm on that door."  
  
"I know. I removed it." The casual reply was was accompanied by a shrug as the slightly more refreshed Gryffindor padded to his closet with bare feet.  
  
"But I didn't even hear or sense anything!" She appeared rather incredulous, and a bit annoyed that Harry had been able to remove her spell without her noticing. So appalled that she'd missed it, she didn't see that Harry didn't have his wand on him.  
  
Harry just smiled. As always, being with Hermione and Ron relaxed him. Well, at least when it was just the three of them. They were the only people that he was certain wouldn't place him on a pedestal – which was good, because it was damned lonely up there on that high, unstable perch.  
  
"You didn't sense anything because you were too busy scaring Ron shitless with a measly name."  
  
Ron stood up indignantly, his cheeks flushing a bit. "Harry! You're supposed to be on my side, here. We're 'mates!"  
  
His roommate looked purposefully in the direction of his own bed, which was now perfectly remade. "I do believe you're forgetting a few things. I owe you."  
  
Ron followed his gaze, then nodded in agreement. "Good point."  
  
"You know," Hermione interrupted blithely. "I don't believe I like the insinuation that I'm someone's punishment."  
  
"It's not just an insinuation, Hermione, dear." This time when the thick book sailed toward Ron's head, he had to duck to avoid it. Hermione had much better aim than Harry. He grinned and glanced at the clock, then gasped in horror.  
  
"We're late! Hurry Harry – we'll meet you in the common room." Ron latched onto Hermione's wrist and began dragging her toward the door.  
  
Just before they reached it, Harry spoke up nonchalantly. "By the way. Why was there a silencing charm on the door? What were you two talking about that you didn't want me to hear?" He'd begun the sentence facing his closet, but as he finished he turned and watched his two best friends directly, his green eyes unwavering yet unaccusing behind his round glasses.  
  
Hermione and Ron glanced at each other, and both began to color nervously.  
  
"We were discussing the D.A. and didn't want anyone to hear - "  
  
"We were snogging and didn't want anyone to hear."  
  
Hermione's rushed voice came out at the same time as Ron's, her last words a loud, dismayed shriek.  
  
"What? Ronald Weasley, we most certainly were not –" She was cut off as Ron's hand clamped over her mouth and she was dragged outside.  
  
"Two minutes, Harry. I'm not kidding!" Ron closed the door behind him, then yelped. "You bit me! You crazy wench!"  
  
"I'm not a wench, and I will do a lot worse if you ever tell anyone I was making out with you! Ugh! Disgusting!"  
  
Inside the room, Harry smiled and shook his head, then returned his attention to getting dressed, having forgotten about the silencing charm for the moment. He didn't have the same success when it came to forgetting the scene with Draco the previous night...but he put a lot of effort into trying.  
  
* * *  
  
After finishing his breakfast – having taken quite awhile to do so – Professor Dumbledore got to his feet, still patting his mouth with his napkin. He didn't have to ask for quiet. Most of the school had been sitting impatiently at their tables, watching their Headmaster eat for a good half hour, give or take a minute.  
  
Ron elbowed Harry, whispering excitedly, "He's going to tell us now!"  
  
Harry rubbed his side, then slid his fist rather forcefully into Ron's abdomen. His friend swatted at it lightly, not even looking away from Dumbledore. Hermione lifted a brow as she watched the two of them, then shook her head and met Ginny's eyes across the table. The youngest Weasley just rolled her eyes and grinned, as if to say 'They're male – of course they're Neanderthals'.  
  
"Before we get started, I'd just like to say that I believe this year's team will be very strong. So long as they work together, we're guaranteed to win the match!" He paused to allow the cheering to fade.  
  
"Now...this decade, we have decided to do something a bit different. Not only are we going to have an alternate Keeper and Seeker – we're going to have an alternate team. If, for any reason, the players from the starting team cannot actually start the match, the alternate team will step in. Because we're having two teams, I've decided that we ought to have two coaches, as well. I had to do quite a bit of persuading to get these two individuals here today, so I trust you'll treat them kindly."  
  
Ron squirmed excitedly. "Oh! What if they're professional coaches? There'd be no way Durmstrang could beat us!"  
  
"We can't, it's against the rules," Hermione informed him primly. His face fell, and he looked back at the Headmaster.  
  
"Damn. I hope whoever it is knows what they're doing..."  
  
"Without further ado, let me introduce your new coaches. They have decided that they'll figure out who will coach which team at a later date." Dumbledore gestured to the entrance of the hall – and in walked Fred and George Weasley.  
  
The students gasped in unison – then pandemonium ensued. The Gryffindors were falling out of their seats, cheering enthusiastically, and the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs whistled and clapped as well. Many of the older students were calling out greetings while the younger ones were holding up items they'd bought from the twin's catalogue. Typically, the Slytherins were not excited – half the house had raced up in front of Professor Snape, demanding that he object to the discrimination against their house.  
  
Ginny jumped up from the table, racing forward to be hugged by each brother – Dean followed her, shaking hands and welcoming them back. As Harry and Hermione greeted the twins they kept an eye on Ron, whose shoulders had slumped dejectedly - his smile seemed forced as he congratulated Fred and George.  
  
Finally, the twins made it to the front and waved hello to everyone. Only those closest to them noticed the fine silver powder that fell from their sleeves, and one small Ravenclaw boy was about to ask what it was when a few bits hit the ground. A loud exploding noise reverberated throughout the hall, accompanied by a flash of orange-red light. As girls and younger students dived under the tables screaming, the boys (and a few females who were devoted to the joke shop) were laughing and applauding. Most of the teachers appeared appalled, but Dumbledore was chuckling merrily, obviously amused.  
  
Fred and George dusted each other off, then grinned. "Sorry 'bout that, everyone – we needed a test audience. Did anyone lose the ability to hear? No? Wonderful!"  
  
"...Y'know, if they did, they wouldn't have heard you ask the question," Fred pointed out to his brother.  
  
"Oh! Right, then. We'll have to consider that for next time." George shrugged it off, grinned again, and addressed the school once more. "Now that that's taken care of, let's get on with the teams. We reviewed games from last season as well as this one, rated those who'd applied, and came up with what we thought was the best selection of players. Oh, and we're having practice right after breakfast. Those chosen have been excused from their morning classes by Professor Dumbledore." The Headmaster nodded in agreement of his words – some of the teachers looked surprised. Snape simply looked annoyed.  
  
Fred stepped up, no list in hand. "Our Seeker will, of course, be Harry Potter. In the event that Harry has his head taken off by a bludger in practice – which we've decided to try and avoid – the alternate seeker will be..." he paused to shoot a glare in Dumbledore's direction, receiving only a serene smile in response. "...Draco Malfoy."  
  
As most of Slytherins cheered and slapped their reigning king on the back (some were decidedly morose; apparently, not everyone trusted Malfoy after his return), the Gryffindors assumed a collectively horrified expression. Harry had paled, and felt a bit sick to his stomach. He was going to have to spend time with Malfoy. In twenty minutes. He shook his head and forced himself to pay attention to what his friends were saying.  
  
"Malfoy? A Death Eater's son, representing the entire school! What were Fred and George thinking? " queried Seamus incredulously.  
  
Ron glanced at his brothers a moment, then looked over at Ginny as he spoke. "They didn't do it...something's going on. They'd never pick a Slytherin for Seeker. Not willingly."  
  
Ginny nodded her agreement, her eyes flickering back to the twins as they continued, announcing two Slytherins, a Ravenclaw, and a Gryffindor named Andrew Kirke for Beaters. When the applause died, one of the twins listed the Chasers – unsurprisingly, Angelina was a starter. A Slytherin and a Ravenclaw were also chosen – a brother and sister from Hufflepuff were named the alternates, along with another Slytherin.  
  
The only position left to be announced was Keeper. Hermione moved her hand beneath the table to grip Ron's, squeezing once for luck. He aimed a light smile in her direction, then looked back at his siblings intently.  
  
Fred and George looked at each other a long moment, as if speaking to each other silently. Finally one nodded, and the other – no one knew which one it was – faced the students and spoke in a rush. "Zacharias Smith from Hufflepuff, and Ron Weasley as the alternate."  
  
Zacharias had been a Beater for Hufflepuff until this year, when he filled the empty Keeper position. He wasn't a bad player, either, so the student population reacted favorably to the announcement.  
  
The twins turned as one and looked over at Ron, ignoring the cheering throughout the hall, their eyes trying to give some sort of message or apology. It wasn't one he was interested in receiving. Stunned and humiliated, Ron turned his head away, ignoring for the moment the various congratulations and sympathies his fellow Gryffindors were extending. Above his head Harry, Hermione, Ginny and Neville were glancing from Ron to the twins and back, distress and uncertainty clouding their faces.  
  
Ron swallowed hard past the ball of rage and hurt in his throat. His own brothers didn't believe he was a good enough Keeper to represent Hogwarts. I'm going to be sick, he thought just as a soft whisper brushed against his ear.  
  
"Ron. Please... you're hurting my hand." He glanced down at the hand held in a death grip by his own, then looked up at Hermione, appalled.  
  
"Hermione. I... I didn't mean...are you okay?" His head was spinning. He couldn't believe he'd been hurting her.  
  
She waved it off, then looked over at Harry, who seemed a bit distracted. Making a mental note to ask what was bothering him later, she gripped Ron's hand and tugged, her free hand shaking Harry's shoulder. "Let's go. Both of you have practice in a few minutes, and I think you need a second to yourselves first."  
  
Neither of the boys protested, rising to their feet and following her from the hall. As they passed the Slytherin table, Crabbe and Goyle piped up rather sadistically.  
  
"...He always lets the Quaffle in – yes, Weasley is our King!"  
  
Ron stopped abruptly, reality fading behind the red haze that clouded his eyes. His hands balled into fists as he turned to face the large, dullwitted boys. He didn't notice when Hermione gasped and tugged on his arm.  
  
"Ron, don't let them get to you. Come on!" Hermione was scared – she didn't like the look on Ron's face. He was livid, and she'd been warned about what could happen if she didn't calm him down quickly.  
  
Hearing her words, Harry glanced behind him, then immediately toward the Slytherin table. His gaze bounced off Malfoy's, then returned. He lifted his chin disdainfully, unaware of the soft flush of color against his pale cheeks as those metallic silver eyes watched him without expression. Harry had to force himself to look away, berating himself for even acknowledging Draco's existence.  
  
Hermione nearly stamped a foot in exasperation as she looked to Harry for help controlling Ron, only to find him locked in some sort of death-glare with Malfoy. Damn these stupid, confrontational Gryffindor males anyway! Her grip tightened harshly on Ron's arm as he started to walk toward the Slytherin table. He didn't seem to be aware of her presence, merely dragging her with him.  
  
"Harry!" The green-eyed Seeker whirled around at Hermione's cry, quickly assessing the situation and hurrying close. He wasn't fast enough. Fred and George appeared out of nowhere, each slinging an arm around Ron's shoulders and frog-marching him discreetly out of the hall.  
  
"Congrats on the alternate posi-" Fred quit speaking as soon as they were out of hearing distance. He looked toward Hermione. "We have maybe ten seconds to find a private room before he loses it."  
  
The young prefect took one look at Ron's red face, nodded, and immediately turned to the nearest door, muttering a spell only Prefects (and Head Girl and Boy) were allowed to have. The door opened, and they stepped inside so she could close and lock it behind them.  
  
"Y'know, it's kind of dark in here," one of the twins said conversationally.  
  
"Lumis Solem."  
  
"Thanks, Hermione. Oh, hey – we're in a broom closet! We made use of a lot of these while we were here." Fred was obviously very excited, but his words seemed to wake Ron from his anger-induced stupor.  
  
"The broom closets didn't miss you. GO HOME! You have NO RIGHT to interfere with MY life this way! Why can't you just stay the FUCK away from me!" What had begun in a loud but normal tone quickly escalated into screaming fury as Ron swung for Fred's face, only mildly hindered by George's grip on his arm. Harry stared at Ron, utterly shocked - uncertain what the hell was going on. As the younger Weasley launched himself at his older brother, Harry inhaled sharply and lifted his hand to rub his suddenly throbbing scar.  
  
Luckily, Fred managed to duck, but Ron's momentum propelled his fist into a shelving unit, causing the entire apparatus to totter unsteadily. George cursed and tried desperately to grab onto Ron's other hand.  
  
"Bloody hell, George, hold tighter!"  
  
"I'm trying! You could help, y'know!"  
  
Ron made a rough sound of fury deep within his throat, and his foot lashed out, connecting quite forcefully with George's ankle and causing his brother to lose his grip. Blind with rage, he whirled for Fred once more.  
  
"YOU ARE FUCKING WITH MY LIFE! IT'S MY TURN, YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO BE HERE! GET THE HELL OUT OF HOGWARTS!"  
  
"...He's going to kill him, Harry," Hermione was shaken as she watched her friend attack his own brother.  
  
Hearing his name called pulled Harry from the myriad of angry, resentful images that had suddenly begun flooding through his mind. He let out a breath, reinforcing the wall he'd built as quickly as he could. The images disappeared, but he could feel them pounding against his barrier as he took in the scene. Harry pressed his lips together, considered grabbing his wand, then quickly abandoned the idea when Ron's fist swung again for one of the twins, narrowly missing Hermione. He leapt at his friend, wrapping his arms around his neck tightly, purposely impairing his ability to breathe.  
  
"Where...the hell... is Ginny..." Fred panted out. As if answering a summons, Ginny Weasley's distant, frantic voice could be heard just beyond the door.  
  
"...Fred? George? Oh Merlin, where are you? Ron?"  
  
"Open... the door!" This time it was George who yelled the words – he'd gotten back up to help Harry. Between the two of them, they were slowly pushing Ron to the floor, but the other boy seemed to have the strength of 5 others his size and was getting in more than a few good hits. Hermione spun immediately to release the spell she'd cast on the door, and let Ginny in quickly - though a thought slipped through her mind that it was really too crowded in here to bring in someone else.  
  
Ginny was pale, but her lips pressed together with determination as she dropped to her knees next to her brother - Fred, George and Harry were nearly lying atop Ron to keep him down - and her hand reached out to brush through his sweaty hair.  
  
"Ron. Ron, it's Ginny. I need some help, Ron, I'm really scared." Her voice was soft, trembling a little.  
  
Hermione frowned and looked at one of the twins questioningly. He shook his head, mouthing the word 'later', then turned his attention back to his brother.  
  
"Ron.. please! I'm scared! I need your help, Ron. I need you to find me. Please!" She sounded so desperate that for a moment Harry thought she really was in trouble – until he looked at her and noticed her determined expression. She's faking it!  
  
Amazingly, Ron had seemed to calm down just a little. He was still fighting, struggling to get up, but no one was getting hit any longer. Ginny's hand moved to her brother's forehead, and she rubbed lightly in an almost motherly manner. "Ron... please, you're so close. I need you to help me. I'm hurt!"  
  
Finally Ron shuddered and recognition flared in his eyes, followed quickly by panic. "Wh... Ginny! I'm coming, I-"  
  
"Ron, I'm here!" she interrupted quickly, motioning for the boys to let him up.  
  
Harry watched uncomprehendingly as Ron looked up at Ginny, then took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "Again?" he asked wearily.  
  
Ginny wrapped her arms around her brother's neck, hugging him tightly. "You're okay now?"  
  
He returned the embrace, looking over her shoulder at the rest of them as he nodded a little. "Yeah. Just a little tired. And my hand hurts. Is everyone alright?"  
  
Ginny murmured reassurance as Hermione stepped forward decisively, trying hard to keep the worry from her expression. "Here, let me see it." She waved her wand over the bruised fist, her mediwizard knowledge helping to ease the pain and cause the purple and blue colors to fade a bit.  
  
One of the twins poked Hermione in the arm. "We're hurt too, y'know!"  
  
"I think I'm going to have a scar," the other twin muttered, prodding at a rather deep gash in his left arm. "I was the victim of a particularly cruel metal shelf. I think that rough edge is still taunting me." He turned to offer a threatening glare to the offending object.  
  
Hermione laughed halfheartedly, then saw to the wounds as Harry raked a hand through his hair and looked around grimly, forcing himself to keep from touching his scar.  
  
"Alright, would someone mind telling me what the hell that was all about? Ron?" He looked pointedly at his best friend, who remained conspicuously silent for one tense, uncomfortable moment.  
  
George spoke up quickly to fill the gap, "Oh, me 'n Fred have often driven him to that. It's a family thing. We're very cruel." He seemed rather proud of himself.  
  
Harry looked questioningly toward Ron, who nodded his confirmation, then to Hermione, who avoided meeting his gaze. I'm missing something here.  
  
He was just about to demand he be told what was going on when Ginny stood up and brushed herself off. "I do believe that four of the people in this tiny closet were supposed to be on the Quidditch pitch five minutes ago," she said rather matter-of-factly.  
  
At those words, Fred and George jumped to their feet, identical expressions of horror on their faces. "We need to go before they all kill each other!"  
  
"Well, so long as it's only the Slytherins..."  
  
Ginny rolled her eyes, but smiled a bit as she began to open the door.  
  
"Oh, and we need to speak to all of you. Tonight. Nine o'clock tonight in the broom closet on the second floor. Third door to the left past the Lady Godiva statue."  
  
Ron looked at Fred blankly, "Huh?"  
  
Hermione lifted a brow, speaking dryly. "Naked woman on a horse, Ron."  
  
Ron's expression cleared with fond remembrance. "Oh, that statue!"  
  
"I can't make it," Harry interrupted softly, his eyes carefully avoiding everyone else's. He tried not to dwell on what he'd just admitted to himself - that he was definitely going to keep his meeting with Malfoy. Again.  
  
George shut the door, his expression abruptly serious – a very uncommon look for both of the twins. "You have to come, Harry. Change your plans."  
  
Harry chewed on his lower lip, then finally looked toward Fred, who seemed just a tad more approachable at the moment. "Can we make our meeting at seven?"  
  
The twins glanced at each other, then nodded. "Yes. Everyone get that? Good. Thanks for the help, kiddies." George paused to kiss Ginny's cheek, then followed his twin out the door.  
  
Silence reigned in the tiny closet for a good minute or so, when Hermione took a deep breath and forced a smile. "You need to get out there too, Harry...Ron."  
  
Ron scowled and folded his arms over his chest. "I'm not going, not to play bloody alternate. I can't believe my own brothers didn't make me the starter! The fruity pansies."  
  
Harry blinked, then snickered. "Did you just refer to the twins as 'fruity pansies'? Because honestly, Ron, that's really queer."  
  
"It is not," Ron stated indignantly, though he colored a lovely crimson shade.  
  
Ginny rolled her eyes. "Look, children, can you finish the argument later? Ron – Fred and George are obviously up to something. They would never have chosen to put Malfoy on the team. Not of their own violation. Even you said so! Furthermore, why Fred and George? They're just nineteen this year. It makes very little sense."  
  
Ron thought about this a moment, then sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'll think about it, Gin."  
  
She nodded, then glanced at Harry imploringly. He sighed, his stomach knotting again as he thought of what – no, who – he'd have to endure for the rest of the morning. Reluctantly he pushed Ron toward the door. "We'll see you two later, alright?"  
  
Hermione nodded, then closed the door behind them and looked toward Ginny, her hands rubbing her arms as if fending off a chill. "...This is getting out of hand."  
  
The other girl nodded, "I know. We have to take him to see Dumbledore. And we probably ought to tell Harry..."  
  
Once again, Hermione shivered, closing her eyes. "You know what it's going to do to him, right, Ginny? He's already withdrawing from us – I can tell that he's keeping something secret. If we tell him what Voldemort has done, he's going to feel so guilty..." she trailed off, sighing dejectedly.  
  
"It can't be helped, Hermione. It's getting dangerous. For a moment there, I didn't think I'd be able to reach him this time."  
  
"Are you the only one who can pull him out of it?"  
  
Ginny nodded, sighing lightly as she slid her fingers through her hair, pulling it back away from her face. "Yeah, so far. Professor Dumbledore said it was probably due to a deep-seated feeling of guilt because of the Tom thing my first year."  
  
Hermione considered this silently, then grinned at Ginny's next thoughtful words. "Although to be honest, Hermione...the idea of Dumbledore turning pop psychologist is really rather frightening."  
  
"A good point. We'll have to watch out for it."  
  
The two girls laughed together as they left the closet in no small state of disrepair. Neither noticed the grim, satisfied expression of the next person to walk down the hallway, an Extendable Ear held in one hand.  
  
* * *  
  
Out on the Quidditch pitch, two fights had already been broken up before Harry and Ron arrived. Angelina had explained that it was, predictably, the Slytherins' fault when she'd passed them on her way to the infirmary with Andrew Kirke.  
  
Ron's face darkened at the news. "Bloody hell, we're never going to even get to practice if that's the way things are going to go."  
  
Harry said nothing, his concentration spent trying to avoid looking at Malfoy. He was determined to get through this morning without a public unveiling of the previous night. Unfortunately, the other Seeker had positioned himself so that the two Gryffindors had no choice but to pass him if they wanted to join everyone else for practice.  
  
"Pretty pathetic, isn't it Weasley, that even your own brothers know you suck?" He practically drawled the words; the effect was only slightly marred by the lack of snickering that his missing sidekicks usually provided.  
  
Ron's arm was grabbed - rather painfully, he'd complain later - by Harry, who swung his head around in Draco's direction, his green eyes narrowed warningly. "At least he's beaten Slytherin, Malfoy. I don't quite remember you ever having caught the Snitch before a Gryffindor did."  
  
Ron released a breath, then jerked his arm free, though he met Harry's gaze reassuringly before looking back toward the blond. "He could never beat you, Harry. He's not even in your league."  
  
Harry's eyes didn't move from Draco's as he replied firmly, "I know."  
  
Draco heard the silent message sent by Harry's adamant gaze. And you know it. You can't even compete with me. As the two Gryffindors moved off toward Fred, George and the others, Draco shook his head in self-disgust. He'd let Potter have the upper hand again! Where was his infamous Slytherin wit and ability to shred another's confidence apart with no effort whatsoever?  
  
Furious with himself, Draco curled his hand into a fist and slammed it against the steel pole he'd been leaning against, then jumped back, hissing in pain. Damn, that hurt.  
  
A sudden noise caused Malfoy to pause, still gripping his throbbing fist, and tilt his head. Hearing only silence, he rolled his eyes, trying to ignore the shiver that slid down his spine. For a moment, he'd thought he'd heard malicious, taunting laughter ... directed at him... but no one was even looking in his direction. He shrugged lightly; must have been the wind.  
  
Making a mental note not to take out his temper on his own body anymore, Draco reluctantly turned and moved toward the others. His keen gaze made note of the hostile glances passing around the lot of them as he approached.  
  
"...so if you'll break into the original teams, we'll have a quick scrimmage so everyone can get used to everyone's styles." One of the twins shooed them away as he finished speaking; which Weasley it was, Draco couldn't tell. It didn't really matter, he supposed. Both of them were idiots, as far as he was concerned.  
  
However, being a Malfoy, he did have a slight problem with the knowledge that his new coaches didn't seem to care whether he was there or not when they started explaining things. It was a bit of a new experience; he was used to being waited on. No matter - they couldn't do anything to him anyway. Or so he thought.  
  
"Malfoy, why are you still standing here? Join your team." Fred-or-George was frowning at him. He didn't bother to ask which team that was supposed to be; he was playing opposite Potter. That's all he needed to worry about.  
  
"I'm going, Weasel-Dum. Keep your pants on." Draco blithely ignored the furious glare the coach gave him - that is, until said coach proceeded to grab onto his arm and bend forward to hiss in his ear.  
  
"Listen you snot-nosed, whining git. Neither I nor my brother want you on this team, and as far as we're concerned, any excuse will do to get you kicked off this team. If you don't want the humiliation of being thrown out by a Weasley, I suggest you watch yourself." He nearly spat the words, then threw Draco's arm away from him and turned, stalking back to his brother, arms folded over his chest.  
  
As soon as Malfoy was out of hearing range, George looked at his brother. "Well?"  
  
"It didn't go off."  
  
"So he doesn't have it?"  
  
"Nope. Unless, of course, it doesn't work. We haven't tested it yet."  
  
"Well, who were we supposed to test it on, for Merlin's sake? Harry?"  
  
Fred appeared to consider this for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Yes. Or... Ginny..."  
  
"I'm not certain that's a good idea."  
  
"I'm not certain any of this is a good idea. Although it does have its benefits..."  
  
"Like?"  
  
George snickered upon hearing Fred lift his voice to yell at the players flying around above them. "Malfoy! You're flying like a dying owl! Vultures are beginning to gather, thinking they've found their afternoon meal. Pick it up!"  
  
Fred grinned at his brother as he finished. "School-sanctioned harassment. This is surely the good life."  
  
As the match progressed, Harry slid deeper inside himself. So much so that the painful, throbbing ache created by the curses the night before barely registered. His only thoughts revolved around his interaction with Malfoy, and the unbearable memory of the moments just before Draco had released him from the Cruciatus Curse. The other boy had seemed so... so horrified. Yet Harry knew that couldn't be the case. Malfoy was the son of a very influential Death Eater – he was born to follow Voldemort.  
  
But he wasn't...was he? Not for the first time, Harry contemplated the thought that Professor Dumbledore might actually be wrong. He'd not noticed when Barty Crouch had taken Mad-Eye Moody's place during 4th year, nor had he been able to sense that Voldemort himself was actually residing in the school during 1st year. Was Dumbledore right? Could Draco Malfoy be trusted? Even as he formed the words, his mind shuddered with denial. No way in hell. Even Malfoy suggested that he was here only on the Dark Lord's orders. If that were the case, then... then... his thoughts scattered as he heard Draco insult Ron.  
  
As the scrimmage continued, Draco was struggling to contain his rage at the constant ribbing he was taking from the Weasleys. Including the one on his own team.  
  
"For the love of my pinky toe, Malfoy, could you at least pretend like you're doing something useful up there? You look like you'd rather be picking pink tulips while wearing a tutu than trying to find the Snitch! No wonder you've never managed to best Harry!" Ron was obviously enjoying himself.  
  
Draco inhaled sharply, then whirled his broomstick around to face his team's Keeper. "Perhaps not at Quidditch, but I'm much better at many other things than Potter is. Just ask him! Unlike yourself, I'm not always second-best." He smirked when the other boy flushed with anger, momentarily forgetting himself and allowing the Quaffle to get past him, into the goal.  
  
"Malfoy!" Finally, the voice Draco felt like he'd been waiting all day to hear. He spun to face Harry, his expression easing into one of arrogant amusement.  
  
"Problem with the truth, Potter?"  
  
"Leave him alone, Malfoy," Harry threatened.  
  
Draco lifted his brows in mild surprise. "I'm just following my example, Potter. They started it!"  
  
Harry shifted uncomfortably on his broom; for once, Malfoy was right. He'd heard the whole thing. "That's a first-year excuse, if I ever heard one."  
  
"Speaking of first-year behavior, I was just thinking that your pathetic showing last night was quite similar to what I'd expect from a child." Draco smiled with satisfaction as he watched the color drain from Harry's face. His voice dropped a bit as he leaned a bit closer on his broom, crooning sarcastically "Still hurt, Potter? Does it feel good? Ready for more?"  
  
His face white and strained, Harry turned his head away. He should have known Malfoy wouldn't be able to resist taunting him - even during Quidditch.  
  
"No? Sure? Ahh, well, that's alright, Potter. You can't take a Malfoy, anyway - that much was obvious last night. Why, even I was surprised by your weakness! Poor thing, you-" Draco stopped speaking abruptly, his silver gaze narrowing a split second before he leaned forward on his broom and hurtled across the playing field.  
  
"Shit," Harry muttered as he inhaled sharply, then dived quickly after him.  
  
Moments later they were nearly side by side, Harry's right shoulder pressed purposefully against Draco's left hip as he used his momentum to try and push the other boy off balance. Grimly, Draco held on and reached out a hand.  
  
Just...a little bit...closer... come on! For once in your life... beat Harry Potter! Draco gritted his teeth, his father's words echoing in his head as his fingers brushed the air a mere centimeter behind the flying golden ball. Draco, you'll never be anything if you do not learn to fight for it. You fight for nothing, and as such you are worthless, a waste of oxygen. Fighting the urge to close his eyes against the memory, he stretched forward just a bit further... Come on....!  
  
A flicker in the corner of his eye caused Draco to glance over for just a moment - only to see Harry's arm stretching out alongside his - and then past it. The other boy lost speed dramatically as he pulled up on his broom, and Draco looked quickly back in front of him. The Snitch was gone!  
  
Groaning inwardly, Draco turned to look behind him - and saw Harry being descended upon by the players, the Golden Snitch held triumphantly in his hand. He slowed down and headed toward the ground, fighting desolation as he avoided the celebratory group. He didn't see Harry disengage himself from the others, promising to return quickly.  
  
As he was walking along the pitch, broom in hand, the Snitch dropped at his feet. Immediately, Draco looked up, finding Harry flying just above him.  
  
"You may have been the first to see the Snitch, Malfoy...but in the end, I beat you. And I always will." Harry stared down at him a moment, his green eyes alight with the confidence that Draco despised, then returned to the others.  
  
"Son of a bitch," Draco spat the words, Harry's voice echoing in his mind. Potter hadn't been talking about Quidditch, and he knew it. His sweaty, aristocratic hand gripped his broomstick tightly as he watched Harry's casual acceptance of the praise he was being offered.  
  
"I'm going to wipe the floor with you, Potter. Until you beg me to stop." He turned furiously and left the pitch, vowing retribution.  
  
* * *  
  
Harry stood beneath the shower and tilted his head back, allowing the steaming water to drum against his throat. The other players had long since left the locker room to return to class, but he couldn't bring himself to leave – not when his imagination was working overtime to process the events of last night and this morning. He didn't understand what was going on, not with anything, and it was slowly driving him mad.  
  
Do I trust Malfoy not to betray us to Voldemort? Should I not show tonight? It would be easier, that way, and safer.  
  
Yeah, sure it would be easier, he mocked his own thoughts. That is, until you had to face Voldemort again and he destroyed you with one quick curse. And everyone else would die, because you're fated to be the only one that could defeat him. So yes, great idea, Harry. Don't see Malfoy again. Don't learn how to deflect the curses, how to use the curses. You won't be needing that knowledge or anything.  
  
Groaning softly, he closed his eyes and ducked his head, his callused palms flattening against the wall as he drenched his sweat-slicked hair. Images of all the people who might die because of his cowardice flashed beneath his eyelids. Ron, Hermione, Dumbledore, the Weasleys, the Gryffindors, Lupin... he pictured their horrid, bloody deaths. And in his anguished depictions, he imagined that all had the same thoughts, the same words on their lips in the moment before their lives were stolen – If only Harry hadn't been so afraid.  
  
Cursing savagely, Harry straightened and shook his head, his stomach knotted with shame. He didn't have a choice; he had to protect them. He couldn't bear the thought of what would happen if he failed...  
  
Sirius's face appeared in his mind, then the scene of his abrupt and useless death, and he muttered in anguish, "Not again...Merlin, I'm not going through that again."  
  
Forcing himself to think about something else, Harry grabbed a bottle of shampoo and brought up the image of Ron's red, furious face. As he scrubbed his scalp raw, he contemplated the abnormal rage his friend had exhibited... and Hermione's refusal to meet his eyes afterward. He knew they were keeping something from them, and he was fully aware that they probably thought they were protecting him. It wasn't fair.  
  
Oh, you mean you're being fair? He thought sarcastically. Because you've told them everything, right? About the Prophecy, about Malfoy?  
  
It's not the same! He insisted to himself as he soaped himself up and rinsed off.  
  
Right, of course not. When you do it, it's honorable. You have perfectly good reasons for hiding things from them. It's for their own good! Heaven forbid you give Ron and Hermione the same honesty you want from them.  
  
"Son of a - " he smothered the angry expletive, then reached forward and turned the water off rather forcefully. While wiping water free of his eyes with his free hand, his left reached out to catch the towel he had Accio'd from across the room, no wand in sight.  
  
After dressing and preparing to leave, Harry still hadn't managed to decide if meeting Malfoy was the best thing for everyone. Rather than go to class, he decided to make a detour.  
  
* * *  
  
Harry stared at the door to Dumbledore's office, racking his brain for the password. "Lemon drops. Chocolate-covered ants. Ton-Tongue Toffee." The door opened and Harry shook his head. Sometimes the Headmaster could be quite predictable.  
  
As he glanced around the empty office, Harry sighed in disappointment. Bloody well figured. Every time he actually needed the Professor for something, he wasn't around. He was beginning to think that, despite what everyone told him, he really would be on his own when the Final Showdown came.  
  
Sighing, Harry wandered around the room, his fingers running lightly over small, dust-covered statuettes and oddly-shaped stones. Bored and frustrated, his green eyes glanced about curiously, passing over then returning to the Pensieve he'd once discovered before.  
  
I shouldn't... it doesn't belong to me. The devil in his mind responded sarcastically. Oh? Since when has that bothered you? Besides, it isn't like you're going to look through private memories. If you could just see the meeting with Draco – determine for yourself whether you can trust him or not. It's truly of the utmost importance.  
  
Not thinking further about it – he was relieved that he'd managed to talk himself into it – Harry walked closer, moving to his knees next to the Pensieve and chewing lightly on his lower lip. Just as he bent his head forward, the low sound of a man clearing his throat jerked him erect.  
  
"Oh. Professor Dumbledore. I was just – "  
  
"I know every well what you were doing, Harry." The Headmaster's tone was sharp in a way that it had never been previously – with Harry, at least.  
  
Feeling his cheeks flush with embarrassment, the younger Gryffindor lifted his chin. "Yes I suppose you do. Perhaps, then, you could tell me why I was going to do it?"  
  
Professor Dumbledore stared at his favorite student for a moment before exhaling slowly and sitting down wearily. "I suppose because you feel like you deserve to know."  
  
Harry lifted a brow, standing in front of the desk. "Are you about to tell me that I don't?" He was, quite obviously, incredulous.  
  
"Harry... there are things that you don't underst-"  
  
"If you're about to have the absolute gall to tell me that I don't understand why I'm not allowed to know why I should trust people like Draco Malfoy and Professor Snape – when my life might be threatened by their very presence – then I honestly don't believe we have anything further to talk about." Furious and oddly hurt by his Professor's inability to treat him as an adult, Harry turned and headed for the door.  
  
Dumbledore stood as he spoke. "Harry...wait. Sit down. Please," he added.  
  
Harry paused, closing his eyes a moment at the request added to the command. While he wanted, badly, to walk out the door, a part of him realized that it was pride that demanded he abandon Dumbledore – just to prove that he could. With that thought came the recognition of stupidity, and sighing softly, he turned and sat down without saying a word.  
  
Albus met the intense, slightly accusing glare of green eyes with no small amount of trepidation congealing in his gut. He couldn't afford to alienate Harry. Yet at the same time, the desire to protect the young man that he'd been responsible for for so long was strong. Stalling for time, the professor lifted a hand and removed his glasses, wiping the lens clean with a bit of his sleeve. Harry, however, didn't seem uncomfortable. His stare was unrelenting as he waited for his Headmaster to speak.  
  
"Would I be correct if I stated that you no longer trust my word, Harry?"  
  
Immediately guilt and shame flooded Harry's thoughts – but he shoved them back determinedly. "Are you trying to turn this conversation into something other than what it is, Professor? Because quite honestly, if you're attempting to make me feel guilty because I have difficulty trusting blindly, then I would remind you of the various instances when I've been betrayed by people I trusted. Some of whom you, yourself endorsed! So please, let's not stray from the point."  
  
Dumbledore flinched at the unexpected perception of his angry student, but he hadn't become one of the wizarding world's most infamous personalities by flailing nervously at the first sign of conflict. "What is the point, then?"  
  
"The point," Harry began furiously, "is that I am tired of being asked to just trust what people say, when in the end it's going to be me. Alone. No matter what you say, Professor – or Hermione, or Ron or anyone – I'm going to have to face Voldemort on my own. I'm going to have to find some way to defeat the Killing Curse – again! I'm going to have to kill someone – intentionally. I have to prepare for it, and I can't do that without knowing everything – without knowing who I can trust. Especially considering –" Abruptly Harry closed his mouth, stopping himself just before mentioning his recent interactions with Malfoy.  
  
Albus didn't miss the omission, but decided not to pursue it – yet. Instead he leaned back in his chair and toyed idly with his beard. "Do you believe it's somehow wrong to trust people, Harry? Is that what the problem is?"  
  
Harry clenched his jaw in frustration. "The problem is that you're wasting your time pretending like you know everything when you damn well don't! The problem is that I don't have a choice in any of this, and yet you don't even have the decency to see to it that I know everything possible! The problem is that I want to know why you believe Draco Malfoy is trustworthy. I want the option to make that decision for myself!"  
  
Dumbledore glanced away, no longer able to hold the boy's gaze while reining in his emotions. When he spoke, however, his tone was even, ignoring the painful thrusts Harry had just twisted in his gut. "Ahh, I see. You believe you do not have enough information currently to be able to reach a verdict as to whether Draco is good or evil. Unfortunately, life does not come in such neat little packages, it-"  
  
"Professor, please." Harry was disgusted with the avoidance tactics. Why wouldn't anyone just tell the damned truth? "I know all this, I understand that people are simply what they are. Stop treating me like a child! You said last year that Sirius' death was partially your fault because you sheltered me too much. So learn from it, damnit! Stop sheltering me! I need to know if Malfoy is truly on our side."  
  
The aging Headmaster finally nodded, but he seemed to have wilted during Harry's vehement statements. Softly, he spoke, his words simple and sympathetic. "I'm sorry, Harry – I truly am. But to explain precisely what precipitated Draco's return to Hogwarts would be to reveal personal information that is his to relate, not mine. All I can say is that I have examined carefully his reason and found there to be little sense in denying him entrance to the school."  
  
Sinking back into his chair and swallowing his anger as best he could, Harry inclined his head, realizing the Dumbledore would no more betray Draco to Harry than he would Harry to Draco. Quickly he changed tactics, pursuing a slightly different angle, "What about entrance into the D.A., Professor? Are you certain it's wise to allow the son of a rather notorious Death Eater to have any knowledge whatsoever of our plans and preparations – much less to be involved in the making of those plans?"  
  
Sighing softly, Albus met Harry's gaze directly. "Harry... sometimes decisions are so difficult to make that one has to carefully consider the consequences of not only the decision they make – but also the decision that they don't. Do you recall our discussions regarding involving the entire school in the D.A.? We wanted to make certain that everyone felt that there was a place for them here. Perhaps it would be wise to use the same train of thought with Draco's involvement in our defensive operations. In addition... as a whole, the Defense League must appreciate not only its strengths, but also its weaknesses. And... it must find a way to correct them."  
  
Having said as much as he felt prudent, Dumbledore leaned forward, his eyes sparkling once again as he pulled out a box from beneath his desk. "Would you like to see the clever little toys the Weasleys gave me this week, Harry?"  
  
Harry's hand fisted with frustration as the Headmaster closed the conversation without his consent – but he was tired of arguing about it. His thoughts raced rapidly as he considered the various bits of information Dumbledore had let slip, so he shook his head and rose to his feet. Just before moving down the stairs, Harry paused and looked back. "Thank you, but no, Professor. However, there is one thing. I'd like to increase the number of Occlumency lessons I'm having right now, if at all possible."  
  
The Headmaster set his new Scented Exploding Quill aside and looked up at his student intently. "Of course, Harry. But why do you need them? You've been doing so well. There isn't much more I can teach you."  
  
This time it was Harry who looked away, his gaze dropping to the floor as he muttered softly, "I just... want to practice - to make certain I'm ready, Professor. Have a good evening." He didn't wait for a response, leaving the office quickly.  
  
Dumbledore closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair as the door closed behind Harry. Everything had been set in motion. Now, he just had to wait and see what happened.  
  
* * *  
  
Harry left Dumbledore's office feeling physically and mentally exhausted. He'd felt so guilty... and then out of nowhere came a rage that he hadn't even been aware of. He was so angry with the Professor – how could the man put him in such a horrid position? Forced to either trust blindly or risk losing everything, as well as a valuable asset – an asset that could turn out the be the either their greatest advantage or the death of them all.  
  
Rubbing his temples, he left the school and walked out into the brisk wind, wandering the gardens. Snow would come soon, so most of the plants had chosen to plant themselves in the greenhouse already. Harry rather enjoyed the bleak emptiness of the area at this time of year. He felt less alone when he was here – quite possibly because more and more as of late he felt lonely even when the entire school was around him. It was horrible.  
  
His gut twisted and he sat down on a cold stone bench, his mind recalling the sheer helplessness that had overtaken him last night just before Malfoy had left the room. It had been a frightening sensation – not only because it was a particularly desolate feeling, but because he had recognized it. Harry had always felt rather isolated from the rest of the world; in his youth it had been because of the Dursleys, but after his first year at Hogwarts the feeling had abated – it was the only time he ever truly remembered being happy. Cedric's death had brought everything back. And then Sirius. Merlin... he'd never felt so alone as he had the first few weeks after his godfather's death. Until last night, that is.  
  
Unable to sit still any longer, Harry moved quickly to his feet and began to wander along the stone path, his hand repeatedly raking through his untidy dark hair. Late last night – or rather, early this morning – he'd made the decision to prove to Malfoy that he was perfectly fine after the other boy's so-called 'help'. Yet today it seemed like such an absurd idea, even though he'd managed to best the Slytherin earlier. If he met Malfoy tonight, it wouldn't be like it had been on the Quidditch pitch. He'd be subjecting himself to the other's whims, he'd have to allow Draco Malfoy to see him weakened. Helpless. His very soul rebelled at the idea. But his intellect hammered at him relentlessly. What other choice do you have?  
  
He simply had to learn how to effectively counter or resist the Unforgivable Curses. He'd done some reading; it was those incantations that had resulted in so many deaths all those years ago. And the Prophecy stated that one of them would kill the other...  
  
Sometimes, he wished it were him; he wished he were dead. Not so much because he wanted to be, but because he was so tired of the endless planning and second-guessing and waiting. Harry often suspected that he'd been living his entire life on borrowed time, and it was one of the least comfortable feelings a person could have. The only way to be rid of it, he figured, would be to get rid of Voldemort. For good, this time.  
  
To do that, he needed Malfoy.  
  
And therein lay the crux of the matter. He was damned if he did and damned if he didn't. In addition, he had his pride to consider. If he didn't show tonight, Malfoy would think Harry was afraid. He'd gloat and laugh...  
  
Harry shuddered at the thought. He couldn't bear the image of having to work with Draco almost daily for D.A. planning and Quidditch practice, and see the satisfaction lingering in the other boy's eyes at having utterly humiliated Harry. Abruptly, his decision was made. He'd be at the Room of Requirement tonight. Early, so he wouldn't be caught unaware again. He'd show Malfoy who the stronger wizard was.  
  
* * *  
  
Draco decided to forgo dinner in exchange for some time to himself. All day he'd used sheer will to keep from dwelling on his actions last night merely so he wouldn't have to think about what he was going to do this evening. Now, however, was time to plan.  
  
He sank into a stuffed chair in a dark corner of the Slytherin common room. It was empty at the moment, which oddly pleased him. Usually he hated being in such a vast place alone. He had enough of that at the Manor. For a few minutes, the determined young wizard leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes and resting. He didn't move; only the slight rise and fall of his chest indicated that he was actually breathing. After awhile Draco's lashes fluttered, then lifted slowly so he could stare idly at the ceiling as he allowed himself to contemplate his circumstances.  
  
There was no question of not meeting Potter tonight; he'd never back down from that overrated git, not ever. There would be no repeat of this morning's Quidditch events; he was furious with himself for his disgusting descent into insecurity and spinelessness. He fully intended that the stupid Gryffindor pay for causing it.  
  
He'd returned to Hogwarts for one reason alone, and he would do whatever he had to in order to accomplish it. He was a Malfoy – failure wasn't an option.  
  
Although...  
  
Draco shook his head furiously, annoyed at his lapse. He'd managed to get through the entire day without thinking of his father, and he had work to do. This was most certainly not the time to be dwelling on events that couldn't be changed.  
  
Now was the time to deal with Potter. If there was a voice in the back of his mind telling him to stop and think instead of letting his pride do the reasoning for him, he ignored it. He was rather good at that.  
  
Smiling with satisfaction, the young Malfoy rose to his feet, dusting himself off regally and heading for the door. He had preparations to complete.  
  
* * *  
  
Harry jogged a few steps to catch up with Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Neville as they left the hall following dinner. "Did I miss anything exciting this morning?" His voice was purposely casual; he was desperate that no one notice the strain he felt. He needed to relax, or he'd go mad.  
  
"Professor Sprout awarded Neville 10 points for being the only person in class to correctly identify every plant in the greenhouse. He didn't make one mistake!" Hermione beamed over at Neville; to her, this was the ultimate compliment - praise from a teacher.  
  
The tips of Neville's ears turned red as he shrugged and smiled back at her. "Thanks - but it's nothing special. I just like plants."  
  
Harry grinned over at his friend, whose confidence was very slowly beginning to emerge. "Don't sell yourself short, Neville. That's a big deal. Congrats."  
  
The other boy seemed to relax on some small, nearly imperceptible level. "Well, thanks. Incidentally, you also missed Professor Tonks's rather spectacular Defense Against the Dark Arts lecture."  
  
Ron rolled his eyes skyward and stopped to listen in a small alcove on the second floor. "Oh man. What happened this time?"  
  
Ginny giggled a bit. "She decided to demonstrate how to put a Locator spell atop an attack spell - so you can be certain that your hex will hit only the person you intend it to. Very useful in a large battle, I'd wager," she mused.  
  
"...So what went wrong?" Harry leaned against a wall as he spoke, cradling his books loosely in one arm.  
  
"Well, she was standing near a mirror, and she tripped on her hair - it was excessively long today, and powder blue - as she tried to aim the spell at nearby mouse. She accidentally set it to Locate herself. She must've run around the room ten times before Hermione managed to disengage it." Ron snickered, shaking his head.  
  
"If this is the best talent the Order could find, we're in big troub-OW! GINNY!" Ron rubbed his abdomen where his sister's elbow had decided to test for durability. He eventually saw her frantic gesturing toward Neville.  
  
Hermione glanced away when she saw this, then muttered beneath her breath, "...Actually...Ginny....he knows."  
  
Everyone stopped and looked at her - except for Neville, who suddenly seemed to find the nearest window ledge extraordinarily fascinating. She flushed sheepishly. "Sorry, I just... I wanted to ask him a few things, and then I thought it was rather unfair that he didn't know - what with his parents and all... I..."  
  
Ron glanced from Neville to Hermione, seeming to inflate with anger, "I can't believe you went behind our backs! You had no right - and neither did you, Neville!"  
  
Upon hearing his name, the boy bit his lip and turned his head away, about to offer to leave...when something stopped him. He thought for a moment, then lifted his chin and met Ron's gaze determinedly; he hoped no one could tell that his knees were shaking. "You should have told me. Last year. You...you've seen my parents. Ron, Harry... you should have told me. At the very least, you could have admitted that the people who came with Dumbledore to help us that night weren't merely friends of Harry's. I had a right to know."  
  
Ginny looked away, embarrassed, but Ron frowned and opened his mouth to argue again. Harry interrupted quietly. "Don't, Ron. He's right." He turned to face Neville, holding out his hand. "I'm truly sorry, Neville. You're right; we should have told you. I know what it's like to have people hide information about your own parents from you - I should have thought. I really do apologize."  
  
Looking cautiously elated, Neville reached out and shook Harry's hand, then released a pent-up breath. "It's alright, Harry. I - I know why you didn't. I've not been much help to anyone in the past. I was too scared; my grandmother used to tell me horrible stories..." He trailed off, wishing he hadn't rambled.  
  
"I'm sorry, too, Neville." This was from Ginny, who was hugged briefly in thanks. Finally, they all looked purposefully toward Ron - everyone except Neville, who turned back to that incredibly entertaining windowsill.  
  
Ron remained silent for a good minute or so, then sighed ruefully, looking at Neville as he slid a hand through his hair. "Me too. I've been an arse today, and I know it. Didn't mean to upset you..."  
  
While he'd neatly managed to avoid apologizing, Neville didn't mind. He just grinned back at Ron as he replied, "Yeah, you have been. It's alright though. With a nose like yours, it must be difficult to keep from taking out your anger on everyone else." The words were stated so sympathetically that for a moment even Hermione missed the humor beneath them.  
  
Ron's hand went immediately to his nose, and he glanced at his reflection in the window. "What's wrong with my-" he broke off upon hearing Hermione's snicker, then saw Neville's smile. "Cute, Neville. Real cute." He laughed then, and lowered his hands.  
  
Ron spoke up once more. "Anyway, as I was saying... have you all noticed the lack of information Professor Tonks has? Not referring to her DADA skills, but rather the blank look she gets if you discreetly ask her something about the Or-?"  
  
Ginny spoke up abruptly, "So Lavender said that the Slytherins managed to get Snape to put in a formal protest to Dumbledore - who probably will just laugh anyway - to have Marcus Flint replace one of the twins as coach - all except for Blaise, because he hates Flint for some reason - but Padma and Parvati say that it isn't true. It might not be, 'cause Lavender sometimes makes things up when there isn't any real news to-" She stopped rambling as abruptly as she'd started, then looked at Ron to give him her full, silent attention.  
  
The boys looked at Ginny, bewildered, then exchanged glances with each other that clearly questioned her sanity. Hermione rolled her eyes. "There were people in the other hallway, they might have been able to hear us. Ginny was just covering. Honestly, don't you three pay attention to anything?"  
  
Ron ignored the question in favor of asking one of his own. "Is it true?"  
  
Ginny stared at her brother blankly. "Huh? Yeah, there were people in the hallway..."  
  
"No! Are they going to replace Fred or George with Flint?"  
  
She blinked. "Lord love a duck, Ron, of course not! I made it up!" For an instant Ron looked disappointed, but the expression vanished quickly beneath a red flush of embarrassment.  
  
"Oh. Yeah, I knew that...I...just wanted to see if you were going to lie about it..."  
  
Hermione and Ginny looked at each other, then rolled their eyes in unison. Harry grinned a bit. "Nice try, Ron. Next time, though... try saying that you've lost your short-term memory due to a freak accident with your hair brush, and you can't recall what was said. It might be a bit more believable."  
  
Ron laughed, then nodded and continued where he'd left off earlier. "So... do you think that Tonks is still receiving information from the Order?"  
  
"She probably just isn't supposed to tell us, Ron. We aren't supposed to know a lot of the things that happen. Though it's not as though that's ever stopped us before - sooner or later, we always find out everything." Hermione's voice had just a bit of arrogance to it. She was quite proud of the things they'd accomplished together.  
  
Harry blanched and looked away, abruptly reminded of the Prophecy, his meetings with Malfoy, his dreams. His eyes closed tightly, then quickly flicked open before images he didn't want to revisit could flash in his mind. He hated keeping things from them. But... it was necessary, wasn't it? They were safer if they didn't know - and he couldn't handle the pity or the over-protectiveness that would surely choke him. It had been so difficult for him not to tell Ron about his encounter with Malfoy during the scrimmage, but...hell. There wasn't really a good reason for keeping it from them - so why was he?  
  
"What time is it?" Ginny looked around for someone with a watch. Neville lifted a small gold pocketwatch on a chain from his pants.  
  
"Ten after seven, why?"  
  
"We're late!" Hermione grabbed her stack of books up off the floor and looked around quickly. "Where's the Lady Godiva again?"  
  
"Outside the bathroom." The three boys answered at the same time, then grinned at each other pridefully - as if knowing where the naked-lady statue defined their masculinity to some completely incomprehensible degree.  
  
Ginny and Hermione just shook their heads and hurried down the corridor.  
  
* * *  
  
"We've received another message, Master." The Death Eater handed the sealed parchment to the Dark Lord, then hurried away. They'd learned quickly that it was wise to avoid sticking around to see whether the information was good or bad. While the former had the benefits in resulting in close confidence, generous grants of power and excellent scotch, the latter had a tendency to result in death. Voldemort's 'Kill the Messenger' policy was legend.  
  
The seal was broken with careful attention and skill - Lord Voldemort would not have it said that he was a hasty man, ruled by passion. No, he was intelligent and powerful - it was written down somewhere. Of course, he'd arranged to have it written that way, just as he'd forbidden the use of his name. He enjoyed inciting fear in his inferiors.  
  
Cold eyes read the words, committing the format and style to memory. For a good five minutes he sat silently, moving only to lift his drink to his lips occasionally. Finally, he began to laugh. Everything was going according to his plans. Adjusted plans, perhaps, but no matter. Dumbledore knew nothing of the changes, he was certain. The Dark Lord had made it clear that, this time, there would not be any mistakes. He wouldn't tolerate failure again.  
  
Besides, he had a secret weapon. One they knew nothing about. He laughed again, then called for another glass of scotch to be prepared. He had a visitor coming.  
  
* * *  
  
"You're late," Fred didn't seem too bothered by this; he was fiddling with what looked to be a circular ceramic block. It didn't shatter when he knocked it rather viciously against the table, though, so it couldn't have been too fragile.  
  
"Sorry, we got distracted." Ginny sat down on a sofa in the surprisingly large broomcloset. It appeared that the twins had made some changes before they'd shown up. She leaned back between the twins, gazing down at their new toy. "What is that?"  
  
"Right now? A worthless piece of crap." Fred frowned again and tried shaking the thing vigorously. Still nothing. "Damned thing."  
  
Deciding she really didn't want to know, Ginny looked toward George as everyone took their seats - Hermione and Neville on the sofa across from she and the twins, Harry sprawled in an armchair - his legs dangling over one arm, and Ron took the chair across from Harry.  
  
"We brought Neville," Hermione said warily. He hadn't wanted to come, but she'd insisted - her eyes shooting daggers at the others until they'd insisted too.  
  
Fred didn't look up. "Neville? Never heard of him."  
  
"Never met him before," said George, ignoring the stunned looks given by Hermione and Neville - they'd been in the same House just the year before!  
  
Fred lifted his head, feigning a blank expression as he looked toward Neville. "He looks rather like an asparagus," he said to his twin.  
  
"I dislike asparagus."  
  
"As do I. Perhaps we might suggest a Polyjuice Potion to give him a more... broccoli appearance."  
  
"I dunno. I was thinking carrot."  
  
"Lettuce?" Fred offered a compromise.  
  
"Romaine lettuce," George qualified with a nod.  
  
The twins grinned at each other, then looked toward the rather bewildered boy. "Hey, Neville. Welcome. Glad you could make it. How's your Mimbulus mimbletonia?"  
  
Neville exhaled in relief, stating that his plant was doing quite well.  
  
"My brothers are certifiable," Ron informed Harry solemnly.  
  
"Yes. Runs in the family, doesn't it?" Harry just laughed at Ron's glower.  
  
"Ahem. Could we get on with this? I have plenty of studying to do tonight." Hermione glared at the lot of them; she was quite anxious to find out what was going on. "And no, Neville, you don't look like a vegetable," she responded to the whispered question.  
  
Fred finally put down his circular tablet and used it as a coaster, setting his drink atop it. "We joined the Order of the Phoenix. We're here on their behalf."  
  
Five shocked pairs of eyes stared at the twins blankly, followed quickly by a collective exclamation of disbelief and demands for explanations. George held up a hand.  
  
"Listen, we'll tell you what we can. Just... before we do... you have to understand that we're not supposed to be saying anything at all. We're only including you because we figure that you've all faced the Death Eaters before and therefore you have a greater chance of running into them again. What is said here goes no further. You don't tell Snape, you don't tell Tonks, you don't even tell McGonagall. Understood?"  
  
Everyone nodded solemnly. Harry's stomach clenched suddenly; he had a feeling that he didn't want to hear this. He said nothing, however, but straightened in his chair, his hands gripping the armrests loosely.  
  
"The Order was there the night that the Death Eaters escaped from Azkaban. They fought the Dark Lord and his cronies - and they lost." Fred's face was grim as he listened to his brother speak. Hermione thought briefly that she'd never seen the twins look so solemn.  
  
"Some of those who were there died - most of whom you've never met. The rest who were there were badly hurt. And yeah, Ginny...Ron... that includes Dad. He's okay now, just...tired a lot." George paused, meeting Ron's eyes apologetically as Fred wrapped an arm around his softly weeping sister, whispering repeatedly that their father was alright.  
  
"What about Bill? And Charlie?" Ron's voice was a bare whisper, as if something was stuck in his throat.  
  
"...They...weren't there. They had another assignment..." The words were reassuring, but George spoke hesitantly.  
  
"Doing what?"  
  
"...We don't know, Ron. Only Dumbledore does, and he's not telling."  
  
"Are... are they okay?"  
  
"We...don't know that either, Ron. I'm sorry."  
  
Hermione had clapped a hand over her mouth when she'd heard that some had died; now tears threatened to spill down her cheeks. Neville bit his lip sympathetically, then reached behind her hesitantly and began to rub her lower back, not saying a word.  
  
Ron nodded and stared at the floor, blinking furiously. After a minute, Ginny's quiet sobs goaded him into lifting his head angrily. "You should have told us. They're our family. We had a right to know."  
  
Fred answered this one, his voice quiet and sad. "We wanted to, Ron. You have no idea how much we wanted to... but it would have endangered not only your life, but theirs as well."  
  
"That's just an excuse!"  
  
George hesitated a moment before replying softly, "Yeah. Yeah, maybe it is. We just... we didn't want to tell you until we knew something definitive. But we still don't, and now that we're here... well... we won't have to worry about finding some way to contact you should something happen. Owl Post is no longer reliable; neither is the Floo network. Everything's been infiltrated."  
  
Harry, who'd been silent until that moment, finally lifted his head and caught George's gaze. He held it forcefully, his face pale but determined, his knuckles white as he gripped the armrests tightly. "You said people were hurt. Have they recovered? What are our numbers? What support is being given by the Ministry? For that matter, what all has the Ministry been allowed to know? Tell us what's going on!" His apprehension revealed itself as anger, causing Hermione to admonish him stiffly.  
  
"Harry. We'll get to it."  
  
For once, her words didn't cause him the slightest feeling of discomfort. He stood to face her quickly, knocking his chair over in his haste. "You're damned right we'll get to it. And we'll get to it right now. Ron and Ginny know that their father is alright, beyond that there's nothing more we can do about it. Not until we know everything. And I am fucking sick of being kept out of the loop. I, more than anyone else, have to know what's going on!"  
  
While Fred and George dropped their eyes guiltily at the last words, Ron shoved himself to his feet. "This isn't about you, Harry! I'm so tired of you thinking that this is all fucking about you!"  
  
"Ron," George tried to interrupt quietly. When his soft warning went unheeded, he too got to his feet. "Ron!"  
  
The angry young boy broke off and shifted his gaze to his brother. "What!"  
  
"Harry's right," was the simple reply. Ron closed his eyes a moment, then looked incredulously at his brother.  
  
"...About which part?"  
  
"Everything, Ron. About everything." The words were solemn and sad. George turned to look at Harry, a bit of curiosity in his gaze.  
  
Harry, who'd been standing with his fists clenched tightly, shook his head in a brief negative movement, then looked away, unable to hold the gaze. George sighed and turned back to his brother.  
  
"Please. Can we do this without yelling? Fred and I will explain everything we can. I promise."  
  
Ron remained flushed with anger until Ginny spoke up, sniffling lightly. "P..please. I want to know what's g-going on. Ron?"  
  
At her soft pleading, Ron finally sat down - though he continued to glare resentfully at Harry. Hermione watched the defensive expression on Harry's face and felt her insides freeze over. Something was very, very wrong. Unknowingly she leaned into Neville a little, seeking comfort; she wasn't aware of his hand holding hers until he squeezed it reassuringly.  
  
"...Harry?" The gentle prodding from the youngest Weasley was enough to cause Harry's icy demeanor to thaw a little, and he sat down rigidly in his chair.  
  
"Alright, then. What don't we know?" Though they were still harsh, Harry's words had lost their accusing tone.  
  
"You don't know that the Order is very nearly out of commission. That night at Azkaban... You-Know-Who showered our entire Protection Force with some sort of potion, but in powder form. We've been working on determining what it was made of for weeks, but we're still only halfway there."  
  
"Who's 'we', if the Order is out of commission?" This was Neville, who didn't know much about the Order yet.  
  
"Us," Fred replied. "And Professor Snape."  
  
Hermione glanced up, frowning. "But you two got horrible grades in Potions."  
  
Fred shrugged lightly, "Only because we stored the ingredients and used them for other things; we rarely did any of the assigned work in that class."  
  
The other girl rolled her eyes - it figured.  
  
"Regardless, the potion causes everyone who comes into direct contact with it to have a problem getting their balance all the time; they can't stand straight, much less walk straight or point a wand and hit a target."  
  
"Sounds like a bad ear infection," Harry mused quietly.  
  
"Huh?" Fred looked at Harry as if he'd spoken in Parseltongue.  
  
"Oh, honestly! You ought to study how people who can't do magic live! An ear infection is a common cold; Muggles often experience them. And they don't get rid of them in a day by swallowing a potion - they have to take pills and antibiotics for a good ten days - at least. And Harry suggested that it might be an ear infection because they have a tendency to cause one's equilibrium to go haywire. The balance problems, in other words." Hermione paused to take a breath, and George jumped in quickly.  
  
"Tell us later, okay Hermione?" He didn't give her a chance to respond, continuing on. "The point is, they're as good as useless. They can't go anywhere. And Dumbledore doesn't think things are bad enough, yet, to risk involving more Ministry members. See... we know for a fact that there's a small but powerful group of defectors within the Ministry; we just aren't positive who they are."  
  
Hermione spoke up hesitantly, "Have you tried asking Percy?"  
  
The three Weasley boys flushed with fury. "I wouldn't ask Percy to spit on me if I was on fire," George hissed, and Fred and Ron nodded their instant agreement.  
  
Wishing she hadn't said anything, Hermione just nodded and looked away.  
  
"Besides," countered Ginny softly. "Percy wouldn't know. He doesn't pay attention to anything aside from his Very Important Reports. I doubt he's aware that there are those in his wonderful Ministry that support the Dark Arts."  
  
"I'd really like to know why so many people think it'd be a lark to join the Dark Lord. I mean - he lies and kills people who defy him - even amongst his own followers!" Ron was frustrated.  
  
"Because he also grants power - and a lot of it - to those followers," murmured Harry.  
  
The others nodded, and Neville spoke up slowly. "Actually... I think that there's more to it. At least, my grandmother says that there is..." He trailed off nervously, uncertain as to whether or not his words would be welcomed. It was obvious that he'd missed quite a bit these past few years - he didn't know half of what George and Fred were talking about.  
  
"What does she say," queried Hermione.  
  
Everyone looked over at Neville with interest, who gazed at his shoes as he responded. "She... she says that a lot of people are afraid of Muggles. They don't know anything about them, so they don't understand them... so they fear them."  
  
Dawning realization crossed everyone's face as they processed Neville's words.  
  
"I think your grandmother's probably right, Neville. But there's more to it, I'd guess."  
  
"What do you mean?" George leaned forward, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully.  
  
"Well, for one thing," Hermione murmured, slipping into Lecture Mode. "..we have been hunted by Muggles in the past. The most infamous case is the Salem Witch Trials that happened not so long ago in America. People were afraid of those who were different from them - women who were especially good with plants, or who seemed to be able to predict the weather. The entire town ganged up on them and put them through horrible deaths. Many Purebloods are terrified that this will happen again, because Muggles outnumber us greatly. If they discovered us and tried to snuff out magic, we'd be forced into seclusion. We simply cannot fight them all."  
  
"I haven't ever heard of any of this," muttered Ron - he didn't want to believe that it was possible for anything that drastic to happen.  
  
"You haven't heard of this because Hogwarts accepts Mudbloods." Hermione's words were calmly stated; only her tighter grip on Neville's hand indicated her distress.  
  
Ron still looked blank; Harry took pity on him. "I think she means that there are so many of us that have grown up in the Muggle world, or had parents who did so, that we aren't afraid of them. We understand that they're just people, too."  
  
Neville spoke up once more. "But the Purebloods don't understand that, because they know nothing about the Muggle world. So they want to keep those Muggles who are the first witches or wizards in their family from ever finding out what they are - this way, they minimize the number of people who know."  
  
"And You-Know-Who feeds this fear and encourages the Purebloods to study the Dark Arts - so that they'll be prepared to fight off the army of Muggles that will surely come and kill us all, one day." Fred's sarcastic words were accompanied by disgusted mutters throughout the room.  
  
Ginny stood up, unable to sit still any longer, and began to pace. Three pairs of Weasley eyes followed her progress anxiously.  
  
"You okay, Gin?" Ron's voice was soft and concerned. She stopped and looked back at him, then took a deep breath, releasing it slowly.  
  
"No, honestly, I'm not. But if you're all honest, none of you are okay, either. It doesn't matter. If Fred and George are here, that means that there's a need for the Order's presence here at Hogwarts. So we are obviously going to have to prepare for something." Though her eyes were red-rimmed, her skin pale and clammy, she was calm and determined.  
  
"I'm rather wondering what that is," said Harry casually.  
  
All eyes turned to Fred and George, who looked at each other for a moment before speaking. "We have reason to believe that You-Know-Who has a spy here, and our job is to find out who it is and figure out what they know. Discreetly."  
  
Only Harry appeared unsurprised. He tapped his fingers idly on his armrest a few times, then spoke up softly, "Do you think it's Malfoy?" If anyone noticed how tensely he awaited the answer or the slight flush of color in his cheeks, they didn't say anything.  
  
Fred and George glanced at each other again, then back toward Harry. "Honestly? It's a bit too obvious, isn't it? We don't think so. We've got no trace of any sort of Dark Energy coming from him..." As George trailed off, Fred piped up ruefully.  
  
"But we aren't certain our Detector is working, anyway. We haven't been able to test it."  
  
"How does it work?" Hermione held out her hand excitedly - not so much because she liked toys, but because it was something new to learn about.  
  
"It's supposed to get very hot if the person wearing it comes into physical contact with another who has had recent contact with Dark magic. And Harry has had more than the rest of us."  
  
Hermione held the circular tablet in her hand, then stood and made her way to Harry's side. She didn't say a word, but he knew quite well what she intended. He didn't protest as she lifted a hand to rest it against his scar.  
  
"Ahh!" Hermione cried out, dropping the tablet to the floor and began blowing on her stinging hand. "Bloody hell, that hurt."  
  
Fred whooped and jumped off the sofa, hurrying to pick up the quickly cooling stone, then straightening and kissing Hermione quickly in gratitude. "You're a goddess, Herm!" She blushed, stuttering in embarrassment at the abrupt kiss – quite forgetting that she didn't allow anyone to refer to her as 'Herm', on penalty of death.  
  
Ron's eyes narrowed angrily, but he said nothing, distracted by Harry's next words. "Hermione, try the same thing with Neville, if you would?"  
  
Neville sat up straight, his voice squeaking in surprise. "You think I am a follower of the Dark Lord?" He sounded so hurt that Harry's voice immediately softened.  
  
"No, Neville...just... bear with me, please?"  
  
The boy nodded reluctantly, holding perfectly still as Hermione's free hand gingerly encircled Neville's wrist. A slight shriek escaped her throat as the hot tablet dropped to the floor. With the exception of Harry, everyone stared at Neville, stunned, then with slowly dawning anger.  
  
"Neville, I can't believe you - " Ron's resentment swelled dangerously.  
  
"He's not," Harry cut him off quickly. "The same thing would happen to you, or Hermione, or Ginny – or anyone in the D.A. We've all been toying with the Dark Arts lately, remember?"  
  
The twins looked crestfallen at Harry's words. "We didn't think about that."  
  
"Then why didn't it work on Malfoy?" Fred asked his brother curiously. Harry's eyes widened with shock, quickly concealed.  
  
"You tried it on Malfoy, and it didn't work?" Ron's voice raised incredulously. "But he's in the D.A. with us. And we know he's doing Dark magic on the side."  
  
Hermione shook her head just once. "No, we don't, Ron. We assume that he is, but we don't know. And for that matter, I can't recall seeing Draco perform one spell with the D.A. He just instructs and advises. He isn't a bad teacher, actually."  
  
Ron looked exasperated. "Oh would you stop, Hermione? We have no desire to hear Malfoy-worshipping at this very moment!" She rolled her eyes, but decided against pushing the topic.  
  
But I prepared a spell to protect Malfoy from being sensed if he performed any Dark magic – it was only supposed to work in the Room of Requirement! Harry closed his eyes tightly. How could he find out of the spell only worked in the Room, or if it continued everywhere else? Damn!  
  
"We'll have to work on it. Regardless, there are other things you need to know." George sounded rather businesslike again; it was rather disconcerting.  
  
"Such as..." Ron drawled.  
  
"We think that Tonks has been compromised. We inform her only what we don't mind passing on, but other than that, don't trust her."  
  
"How? Why?" Hermione seemed distraught; she truly liked the woman. Not as a teacher, of course – she was an abysmal failure at that – but as a person, she was wonderful.  
  
"Well, Dumbledore isn't certain whether or not she actually is, but... she went on a mission just before school started, and he thinks that the Dark Lord got ahold of her. We've been told that he's very persuasive."  
  
"And," added Fred "no one's seen her brother since two weeks before school began. Her younger brother, whom she's been responsible for all her life. If You-Know-Who has him, she'd do anything, I'd think."  
  
Hermione rested a hand on her throat, utterly appalled. "Oh, Merlin. How frightening! Poor Tonks..."  
  
"Don't go getting all sympathetic, Hermione," George cautioned. "There's also the possibility that he'd gotten to her beforehand, and she sent her brother to him on her own. Or that he just ran off."  
  
"It's not as if You-Know-Who's afraid of going after a target's friends and family to get what he wants, either." Ron piped up rather bitterly.  
  
Harry glanced toward him, frowning a bit. "We have proof that he's done that?"  
  
Ron's eyes widened with horror, unable to believe what he'd just given away, until Hermione stepped quickly in front of him.  
  
"Of course we do. You told me yourself, Harry, remember? Our second year, when Dumbledore had been asked to leave. He told Lucius Malfoy that certain people had been afraid that their families would be harmed if they didn't vote for his removal."  
  
Harry nodded thoughtfully, then shook his head, "Yes, but that was Malfoy's doing. I think."  
  
Hermione nodded quickly, "Yes, but there's also the incidents with the Crouch family..."  
  
His eyes closed as he remembered the terrified confusion on Mr. Crouch's expression before he'd left to go find help. The man had been dead by the time Harry'd returned; killed by his own son – a supporter of the Dark Lord.  
  
"Yeah, maybe. It wouldn't really surprise me."  
  
"Speaking of Malfoy," Fred piped up, leaning forward, his elbows braced on his knees. "We wanted to clear something up, Ron."  
  
Ron looked toward his brother, lifting a brow somewhat defensively. "Yeah?"  
  
"We didn't want Draco Malfoy on the team, we were worried about having him around. But Dumbledore insisted, so we had to. Then...well, we were going to have you be the starting Keeper, but we needed someone to stay close to Malfoy. Just in case, y'know? It would be easier to do that if we had someone on his own team who could spy on him."  
  
The younger Weasley's expression seemed to ease with relief and hope. "So... you don't think I'm not good enough to represent Hogwarts?" The vulnerability in his statement caused Ginny to reach out and grab Ron's hand.  
  
"Of course not! We think you're the best person for the job, Ron... and if we get a chance, we'll get you playing time. Merlin knows Hogwarts would be better off with you guarding the hoops," Fred's words were boasting, and Ron beamed his first genuine smile since breakfast.  
  
Harry and Hermione smiled as they looked at Ron, a blatant 'I told you so!' expression in their eyes. He flushed, then just shrugged and grinned back at them.  
  
"Oh, shuddup. I do not want to hear it," he muttered as he smiled.  
  
"What time is it?" Harry sat up abruptly, looking for a clock.  
  
Neville pulled his pocket watch out, "Quarter to nine, why?"  
  
Harry flushed and pushed himself to his feet. "I'm sorry, I have to go. We can talk about all of this later, okay? Fred, George... thanks for all the information. I apologize for getting so frustrated, I'm probably just tired. See you all later!" He hurried out of the room before anyone could stop him, leaving a rather curious group of teenagers.  
  
"What was that all about?" George looked at Ron, who was staring at the door blankly.  
  
"I have no idea..."  
  
Hermione and Ron glanced at each other warily, looking away only after Fred spoke up.  
  
"Well, we may as well continue this later. George and I have to go see Professor Dumbledore." He paused a moment, then continued with poorly faked nonchalance. "Ron, why don't you come with us! I'm sure he'd love to... to tell you more about Mom and Dad...."  
  
Ever the smart one, Hermione picked up on the twins' intention immediately. "Yes, why don't you, Ron? It might be helpful. ...For that matter, why don't we all go? I'd like to ask him a few questions, anyway."  
  
Neville and Ginny merely shrugged, deciding not to argue as they stood and headed for the door. Ron followed, giving a few seconds for the twins to whisper fiercely to Hermione.  
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
She replied calmly, her wand rearranging the broomcloset back to its original state. "If he's gotten through Ron's shield, he'll get through mine, too. And since Neville and Ginny are spending more time with us, it can't hurt them to be offered the opportunity to be protected. And... it's best, for Harry. The fewer people Voldemort can get ahold of..." She drifted off as they picked up on her meaning.  
  
"You're right, we should have thought about it." They turned for the door.  
  
"Wait, I just have one question." At Hermione's words, they looked back questioningly.  
  
"Are you here because of a traitor, or to protect Harry?"  
  
The twins looked at each other warily, then George spoke up softly. "Both, Hermione."  
  
"...So Dumbledore doesn't think he's enough of a deterrent, anymore."  
  
Fred and George, who hadn't thought of it that way, frowned apprehensively. "I certainly hope that's not the case, Hermione."  
  
After a moment she nodded, then gestured for them to leave. She didn't respond; there was nothing to say.  
  
* * *  
  
Harry crept up the stairs, peeking around the corner before finally hurrying toward the Room of Requirement. He grabbed the doorknob, feeling the slight twinge of magic that identified him – in addition to various other protections and Dark Arts shields, he'd keyed the Room to allow only himself and Draco after 9pm each night. Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside, though warily this time – his wand drawn.  
  
It took perhaps the blink of an eye to identify that he wasn't alone, and another to swiftly shout "Protego!" in attempt to ward off the binding spell Malfoy had used the last time.  
  
Unfortunately, he wasn't exactly prepared for the spell Draco actually used. The word 'Imperio' barely registered before he felt the curse hit him, and his entire body shuddered with reaction. He felt the wall protecting his mind begin to crumble, and he inhaled sharply, squeezing his eyes shut tightly.  
  
Malfoy watched, smirking lightly. While he was aware that Potter had resisted Imperious before, it hadn't been done well. Besides, unlike now, Harry had been able to prepare for it before. Folding his arms over his chest, he cocked a brow arrogantly. "Potter – be a dear and close the door."  
  
Close the door? Of course.  
  
The thoughts drifted unhindered through Harry's mind, and he turned and closed the door behind him, even as a pathetically tiny voice seemed to scream No, don't listen! He ignored it – why shouldn't he listen? The demanding voice was somehow comforting, and he did want to please it.  
  
Chuckling softly, Draco shook his head and murmured commandingly, "Potter, bring me your wand, if you would."  
  
Bring you my – my wand?  
  
Just as Harry began to take a step toward Malfoy, he stopped, his forehead crinkled in distress as his hands slowly fisted at his side.  
  
That doesn't sound reasonable. I'd really rather not.  
  
Draco inhaled sharply, his eyes widening in shock. Already, he could fight it? That... that was odd... he'd never seen anyone start to recover so quickly – most never even did.  
  
Harry's jaw clenched tightly as his mind waged a grueling battle for control. Brick by brick, his wall reinforced, and his thoughts became more clear. I should keep my wand with me at all times. I know this. Although, it isn't like it would kill me...  
  
It might! His mind responded furiously. You may need it to defend yourself!  
  
"Potter. Your wand. Bring it here." Draco had straightened, speaking louder, his silver eyes focused intently on the slightly smaller wizard standing shakily before him.  
  
His breath held, Draco watched as Harry trembled, obviously struggling to fight off the curse. Moments passed, and suddently the dark-haired wizard lifted his wand, holding it out toward Malfoy. Just as Draco leaned forward to take it, Harry lifted his head, green eyes blazing.  
  
"Commoveo!" he shouted, and vibrant emerald light emerged from his wand, moving unerringly toward the other boy.  
  
The sound of Malfoy's gasp of shock was quickly followed by a dull thud as he hit the wall forcefully and slid to the floor. Harry stood utterly still, panting softly with exertion as he glared furiously at his attacker.  
  
"Get up." The enraged Gryffindor hissed, although Draco was already scrambling to his feet, his pale cheeks flushed with humiliated fury.  
  
"You'll pay for that, Potter, I promise you." The blonde held his wand out threateningly, his muscles tense as he awaited Harry's next move. Later he would berate himself for not attacking immediately, but at the moment his sole concern was avoiding the other wizard's certain strike.  
  
Harry lifted his wand, steadying it as he aimed at the treacherous Slytherin, his voice but a whisper as he hissed out furiously "How dare you, Malfoy! How dare you-"  
  
Draco laughed sardonically. "How dare I what, Potter? Do exactly what you had asked me to do? Use the Unforgivable Curses on you?" He watched the other boy disdainfully, delighting in pointing out the famous Gryffindor's stupidity.  
  
Harry flinched, his lashes flickering in acknowledgement of the hit. Embarrassed at the point made, he quickly countered, "You have no honor whatsoever, Malfoy! You didn't even bother to wait until I was inside, or to ask me what I wanted to practice. You're scum – just like your father." He said it only because he knew it would irritate the hell out of Malfoy, and he desperately needed just a moment or two to regroup – he was humiliated at having been caught unaware. Again.  
  
The change that passed over Draco's face at the last words was astounding. Until then, Malfoy had been angry, disturbed, but still arrogant and somehow cold. Now it seemed like every muscle in his body had tightened with sheer, unadulterated hatred. His silver eyes gleamed like liquid metal as his gaze slid slowly, contemptuously over Harry, who shivered and actually stepped back uncertainly.  
  
Draco inhaled slowly, releasing the breath in a slow, soft hiss. It was taking every bit of energy he had to keep from using the Killing Curse on Potter – and even then, he could feel himself slipping. The rage was there, demanding to be released. He could feel it within him.  
  
It would be so easy, his mind whispered. Two words, and he would be gone. Never to say such words again. You have the power, the strength. He is a weakling – you are not. You have the power of life and death... and he deserves to be punished for his insolence.  
  
Harry watched as Malfoy tilted his head to the side a bit, as if listening to someone whisper in his ear. His own breathing quickened as he watched awareness fade in Draco's eyes, overcome by the illusion of supremacy given to him by the shocking amount of power he seemed to suddenly radiate.  
  
As those enraged metal eyes focused on him once more, Harry assessed his options. He wasn't prepared to deal with this angry power that he'd never seen before, and he knew it. Making a swift decision and hoping like hell that it worked, he lifted his wand. Just as Malfoy's eyes widened, Harry focused on his hatred of Voldemort and shouted - as if volume would somehow increase his power.  
  
"Imperio!" The flash of green light caught Draco's right shoulder, and Harry waited tensely, hoping like hell the curse was effective enough to distract Malfoy and perhaps cause him to lose his focus a bit.  
  
Slowly, Draco lifted his simmering silver eyes from his shoulder and stared at Harry, who shuddered as the Slytherin's softly spoken words seeped into him. This wasn't the Malfoy he knew. This was someone else entirely.  
  
"Potter," he hissed dangerously. "You are a fool... a weak fool. An Unforgivable Curse must be willed to have an effect. The caster has to want the recipient to feel the effects with every fiber of his being. Like... this. Crucio."  
  
The curse was all the more effective for its taunting delivery, and Harry had been so distracted by the unearthly voice Draco had used that he completely forgot to avoid the spell. A groan of anguish ripped from his throat as he sank immediately to his knees, his arms wrapping around his stomach as he bent over, curling into a ball as if he could contain the pain that way.  
  
Draco watched unfeelingly as Harry's muscles locked tightly; never once did his wand waver as he held the curse, not allowing the pathetic, quivering boy on the ground a reprieve – even when tortured gasps reached his ears.  
  
You see? The power you have – even Dumbledore's Hero cannot match you. You are without equal. And he – he deserves to die for what he said about your father...  
  
Malfoy growled deep in his throat as the words floated through his mind, and amazingly the Curse seemed to take on a new dimension. No longer did it feel to Harry like he was being swallowed alive by misery and hatred and absolute evil – now, it felt like it were eating at him from the inside out, and he just wanted to give into it. The world wasn't worth fighting for so long as this existed. It would be so much easier to just... surrender.  
  
The energy Draco had sent at Harry seemed to intensify malevolently as the thought of submitting drifted through his ravaged mind. Quickly the remainder of the wall he'd erected to protect himself was wiped away, and with it any constraints that had been placed on him.  
  
Wild images raced in front of the Gryffindor's closed eyelids, patches and flickers that made no sense whatsoever, until they seemed to merge together, and only a soft whimper escaped Harry's lips as his consciousness slipped away.  
  
* *  
  
Something was coming toward him. It was dark, menacing, and it was reaching for him – so close! Harry turned to run, only to feel cold, heavy tendrils of ominous energy wrapping about his throat, holding him still. A panicked whimper parted his lips as words whispered threateningly in his ear. You're mine... you belong to Me. He heard the words, his eyes wide with horror, and suddenly he couldn't breathe as mocking laughter filled the air.  
  
Without warning, the laughter turned to a piercing shriek of rage. No! No, he's Mine... Mine!  
  
Blessedly, his world whirled around and he felt himself sucked into another time, another place - leaving the evil presence behind as Harry became another, just as he had when he'd practiced Occlumency with Dumbledore...  
  
He stood utterly still, purposely controlling his breathing, anxious to hide his uncertainty. Something to his left shifted, jolting his side, but he didn't bother to look. His eyes remained locked on the stone floor, his hands curled into fists at his sides. A sticky moisture began to slide against his skin, but he barely noticed. No... no, don't. You can't ask this. You can't do this. His thoughts seemed like screams, aching and desperate and pleading for help - but there was no response. The force of his will went ignored. And he watched . . .  
  
...He watched as the familiar man walked to a clear space and lifted his head to face him. No... not him, Him. The one demanding this task, the one standing next to him, gripping his shoulder. Hatred and fear twisted his gut, his hands clenching tighter as he watched, struggling to remain impassive. He'd been spared only one glance by his father, the victim of this atrocity, and it had been cool, unemotional. He wouldn't disrespect that courage by showing his fear, his desperation. His fists were slick now as he watched the proceedings, not knowing that his breath came in soft gasps – almost whimpers.  
  
Finally he heard it, stated triumphantly and accompanied by a slightly mad cackle of superiority... Avada Kedavra. He saw the resignation on his father's face a mere instant before the curse struck – his head spun, and everything went black.  
  
Harry shook himself from Draco's mind and pulled out quickly, his thoughts whirling as he acknowledged the impossible truth of what he'd seen. Commanding himself to remember everything, he closed his eyes, allowing himself to return...  
  
* *  
  
Harry lifted his lashes, staring sightlessly at the ceiling as he listened to the sound of his heart racing, reliving the last few moments of his dream – if it actually was a dream, which he doubted. Moments later he turned his head, very slowly, and focused on the Slytherin panting softly, eyes closed. Quickly he noted the slumped shoulders and slight tremble of the boy's hands and exhaled softly in relief. Whatever monster had taken over Draco before seemed to have gone, thankfully.  
  
Groaning lightly as he shifted, his entire body shuddering in protest, Harry placed an arm on the ground and tried to push himself into a sitting position, only to collapse back to the ground, weak and exhausted. The movements caught Draco's attention, and looked up with bloodshot eyes, then inhaled sharply.  
  
"Harry?" The words were whispered almost inaudibly; Malfoy lifted a hand to rub at his eyes, verifying that what he was seeing was reality. When he saw Harry move again, he groaned and slid to his knees. "Oh, Merlin..."  
  
Harry took a deep breath, then quickly shoved himself up to a sitting position, his hands grabbing at his head as he held himself still while his world spun wildly. "I'm going to kill you for this, Malfoy," Harry muttered as he waited impatiently for the gnomes tap-dancing on his head to quit the racket.  
  
Surprisingly, no response followed his words – sarcastic, threatening or otherwise. Frowning a little, Harry looked over at Draco once more, his brows lifting in curiously as he saw the Slytherin curled in on himself, his arms wrapped around his knees, which were drawn to his chest, providing an uncomfortable pillow for his forehead.  
  
Harry caught his breath – Draco's shoulders were shaking. Was he...crying? Surely not. Malfoy didn't cry – Malfoy wasn't even human. The memory of the scene he'd recently seen caused guilt to flood his stomach. Oh, hell no. You do not feel sympathy for Draco. Just because he saw his father die...  
  
And that was all it took – the memory of Sirius' death, the recollection of how he'd felt all his life, the rootlessness and loneliness that had been so much a part of him...and all because his parents were gone - Harry closed his eyes as remorse flooded his entire being. Draco was a creep, yes, but... no one deserved having to lose people they cared about in such a way.  
  
Hesitantly, Harry scooted toward the Slytherin, holding his breath to keep from crying out at the horrid sensations - which felt how Harry imagined having nails hammered into his bones would feel. When he was close enough to touch, he whispered softly, though his left hand gripped his wand nervously behind his back. He'd been a fool twice in the past two days with this wizard – it wouldn't happen again.  
  
"Malfoy?" There was no response aside from the sudden stillness of the blond. Biting his lower lip apprehensively, Harry tried again. "...Draco? Are... are you... what happened?" Sympathetic as he felt, he couldn't quite stomach asking Malfoy if he was okay.  
  
There was no answer for perhaps half a minute, when a pent-up breath was released from the other boy, sounding like nothing else so much as a long- suffering sigh. Then Draco lifted his head and stared coldly at Harry, his eyes bloodshot, but oddly there was no sign whatsoever that the Slytherin had shed even one tear.  
  
"Haven't had enough yet, Potter?" The words were dripping with sarcasm, as usual, and Malfoy's expression held nothing but confidence in his superiority. And yet... something was different. Harry couldn't put his finger on it.  
  
"No? Want to 'practice' some more, Potter? I wouldn't mind, but perhaps pain gets you hard... I really don't care to be used as a substitute for your hand." Again he taunted, and there wasn't even a flicker in his gaze to suggest that he didn't mean every disdainful word.  
  
Harry felt his hands curling into fists, anger flushing his cheeks. This was a new and unfamiliar method of taunting that he just wasn't used to. Behind his glasses, his green eyes narrowed with loathing. "Malfoy, you couldn't turn on a rock."  
  
Draco just smirked arrogantly. "Shows what you know, Potter."  
  
Considering attacking Malfoy again, Harry forced himself to take a deep breath and get to his feet. He didn't have the strength to go another round with the surprisingly powerful Slytherin. As it was, it took most of his remaining energy just to keep upright. He'd never hurt so badly in his life...well, physically, at least.  
  
"You're not worth my time, Malfoy." Harry spat the words, then turned and made his way as steadily as possible for the door. The tart retort he'd expected never came, and it wasn't until he was out the door that he hunched over, struggling to stay upright. It took a long time to reach the dorm.  
  
* * *  
  
Draco watched Harry leave, ignoring the trembling of his wand as he held it out, casting a spell to lock the door. As soon as he finished, the wand clattered to the floor as he turned to his side. He bent forward, supporting himself with his palms on the cold stone floor as he retched repeatedly.  
  
When he finished, the weary Slytherin sat up and leaned back against the wall, staring sightlessly at the floor as he tried to recall what had happened. Almost instantly, his stomach clenched and bile rose once again in his throat – but there was nothing left to come up.  
  
Once he'd settled again, he lifted his lashes and looked down at the prominence of his veins in his left forearm. My wand arm, he thought immediately, and his eyes widened.  
  
Something was horribly wrong. He didn't know what happened; one minute he'd been waiting for Potter to strike, and the next the boy had been lying limply on the floor, and he'd been panting with exertion. Draco shuddered at the memory. He'd thought Harry was dead. He'd thought that he had killed someone...again.  
  
Damnit! His stupid sentiments regarding killing weakened him. Draco was absolutely furious with himself for caring, for even one moment, about fucking Harry Potter. The boy was dumb enough to ask these favors of him; if he ended up dead, it was his own damned fault!  
  
Still... this shouldn't have happened. He didn't know how to explain how it had. Closing his eyes, Draco swallowed hard past the lump of fear in his throat. His return to Hogwarts may have been more foolhardy than he'd realized..  
  
* * *  
  
The rough hand shaking his shoulder woke him sluggishly. He didn't even bother to open his eyes; he could tell it was still dark, and he couldn't see much without his glasses anyway.  
  
"...What?" Harry mumbled irritatedly. He was tired, he hurt. He wanted to sleep, damnit.  
  
"Harry, wake up." It was one of the Weasley twins. "Dumbledore's been attacked."  
  
* * * 


	5. Chapter 5

* * *  
  
"Dumbledore's been attacked."  
  
Harry bolted upright in bed, blinking to try and clear his vision even as his hand fumbled around on his nightstand for his glasses. Once he had them on, he took in George's pale, frightened expression. Pain struck sharply with each movement, and for just a moment he wanted to curl back in bed, duck beneath his pillow, and pretend that he had never woken up. The need passed a second later, when he heard Ron's shocked exclamation. His friend's horror seemed to bring Harry back to the present, and he quickly pushed out of bed and headed for the door, as clearheaded as if he'd been awake for hours. So determined and so panicked was the young wizard that he focused only on Dumbledore's predicament; he never stopped to tug a nightshirt over his head or slip his feet into shoes of some sort.  
  
As Harry crossed the common room, he glanced back over his shoulder at the Weasleys, who were running to catch up with him, speaking with the steely, confident voice of someone who had seen too much tragedy in his life to not know how to handle it. He understood that someone had to be strong, and it was fairly obvious that the Weasley's weren't up to it at the moment.  
  
"Ron, wake Hermione. If anyone hears you, tell them something inocuous to keep them from leaving the dorm. Fred and George, we're going to need Madam Pomfrey and Professor Snape. I don't care who gets whom, just hurry. And keep your wands out - we don't know who might have done this. He's in the office?" He waited only long enough for a vague nod of confirmation from George before slipping out the door.  
  
The three Weasleys stared at each other mutely for a full six seconds before the Fat Lady's sleepy grumblings jerked them into action.  
  
"We'd better go," Ron muttered, though he couldn't quite make himself move just yet. When the twins remained still, he looked over at them apprehensively. "Is he... was he..." He broke off, unable to finish.  
  
The twins glanced at each other grimly before George looked toward his younger brother. "We don't know, Ron. We just... don't know. We should go, though."  
  
Ron nodded, his face devoid of any color whatsoever. As he headed toward the girl's wing, the twins hurried from the room.  
  
Harry was trying desperately not to think as he wound his way through the corridors of the school. He wished he'd asked the twins if Dumbledore had been okay, had been alive. The thought that his mentor might actually be gone caused a soft, anguished sound to rip from his throat. He couldn't remember his last words to the Headmaster, but he recalled leaving angry. What if that was the last time he'd ever speak to him? Panting softly, he increased his pace, forcing himself to focus only on the ground. He couldn't handle his own thoughts.  
  
His voice trembled slightly as he gave the password, and his eyes closed for a moment as he moved up the stairs into the Headmaster's office. Oh Merlin, I don't want to look, I don't want to see, please let him be okay.  
  
A whisper of sound forced Harry to open his eyes, and his breath caught in his throat. Fawkes was standing on the professor's desk, leaning close. As the bird tilted his head, Harry could see the tears slipping from the magnificent phoenix's eyes. Hope flashed within him - Fawkes was healing Dumbledore. Quickly he looked toward the formidable wizard, and felt his head spin.  
  
The aging Hogwarts Headmaster was slumped forward on his desk, his long beard caught beneath his cheek. His arms fell uselessly at his sides, one hand covered in some dark liquid that Harry didn't want to identify. He looked...tortured. There was no other word for it. While his eyes were closed, they were red-rimmed and probably bloodshot. Lines of strain dug deeply into the man's colorless skin, and his lips were drawn back in a horrifying grimace. But the worst part was the complete lack of movement by the figure lying there. Professor Dumbledore lay utterly still. He wasn't even breathing.  
  
Oh Merlin. Not again.  
  
Harry stumbled forward quickly, gripping the desk tightly to keep from spilling onto the floor. A slight nudge at his left shoulder caused the young wizard to open his eyes and look down. Fawkes brushed his head against Harry's arm, and realization flashed. The phoenix hadn't been trying to heal Dumbledore.  
  
He had been grieving.  
  
A shaky indrawn breath seemed to steady the Gryffindor just a little, and he lifted a hand to rub Fawkes' head gently, one comforting stroke, before his gaze retruned to the professor. Licking his lips nervously, he reached out and brushed a finger against Dumbledore's cheek. Once again, hope stirred within him. The Headmaster felt warm, not cold. Perhaps there was still a chance.  
  
Determined to help, Harry quicky moved closer, withdrawing his wand and gesturing in Dumbledore's direction, murmuring several small spells he'd learned from Hermione, who'd been training the D.A. in several simple Mediwizard methods. Nothing seemed to help, although in his shaken state he wasn't even certain if he was performing the spells correctly. Frustrated and scared, Harry set down his wand and slid two fingers against the Headmaster's neck. He became utterly still, eyes opening wide with shock. There's a pulse!  
  
Beneath his fingers, proof that Professor Dumbledore clung tightly to the fragile thread of his own life throbbed falteringly. The movements were barely discernable, coming far apart and without much strength – but they were there. The young wizard released a soft sob of relief, though he quickly cut off the sound and looked around. He didn't know what else to do; he'd have to wait for Madam Pomfrey. His fingers trembled and he clutched his wand once more as he realized the necessity of finding out what caused the Headmaster to end up this way. Even he understood that it was often impossible to fix something if you didn't know how it had broken.  
  
Filled again with purpose, Harry walked around the desk, his gaze searching intently for any hint of what had caused this... this nightmare. Almost immediately his green eyes fell upon the Headmaster's wand, lying uselessly on the floor. He bent, curling his fingers around the wood, and straightened again, wondering if Dumbledore had known of the danger before it struck - if he had tried to fight it. That his wand had been drawn instead of concealed within his robes suggested that the Headmaster just hadn't had time to counter the attack he'd seen coming. Harry didn't want to believe that his mentor couldn't have handled whatever it was that had done this; if Dumbledore couldn't defeat it, then he certainly couldn't. It was a terrifying thought, one Harry tried to banish quickly.  
  
The sound of two pairs of feet slamming against stone distraced his train of thought; he'd left the door open. As Harry heard Hermione's anxious call, he inhaled sharply.  
  
"Ron, stop!"  
  
Perhaps the urgency in Harry's tone persuaded Ron to listen, or perhaps it was just because he was used to following Harry's direction. Whatever the cause, Ron quickly stopped and grabbed onto Hermione's upper arm, pulling her to a halt as well. She looked back incredulously, trying to pull herself free.  
  
"Ron, let go. Harry may need us!"  
  
"Just be quiet a sec, Hermione." Ron didn't even look at her as he spoke; instead his eyes focused on the boy who'd appeared at the top of the stairs. Almost immediately his grip on the girl's arm weakened as dread congealed in his stomach. Harry didn't look at all relieved. He looked...undone.  
  
Hermione quickly jerked her arm free, then followed Ron's gaze. Upon seeing Harry, her skin paled and she swayed.  
  
"Oh no. Harry, it... it can't be." Hermione's voice was barely audible.  
  
Although he was terrified, guilt-ridden and desperate, Harry took comfort in his friends' presence. Just being around them cleared his head. It was part of the reason why he loved them so much, and why he fought so hard for control. He didn't want to scare them further.  
  
"I don't think he's dead. He isn't moving, and he looks... well, he looks horrible. But he isn't cold, and I think I felt a pulse. I just... I just wanted to warn you. Okay?"  
  
If possible, Ron seemed to pale even further. He just couldn't comprehend that someone may have gotten Dumbledore. It was unthinkable. Hermione, however, seemed to steady. Her shoulders pressed back and her chin lifted firmly, as if daring someone to stop her from determining for herself how bad things really were. Harry watched them solemnly, waiting until they were ready. There were no tears in his eyes. He didn't have time for them. He had to be the strong one now.  
  
Time passed slowly until finally Hermione slipped her hand into Ron's and squeezed gently, shaking him from his thoughts to look down at her. Her gaze was unusually patient as she waited to see that he was ready. Almost immediately the young Weasley seemed to straighten with loyal courage. Both looked back at Harry, who held out his hand to Hermione when they reached the top of the stairs. The three friends walked into the room together.  
  
***  
  
The door flung open as if the person on the other side of it wanted to rip it off its hinges. For a moment, Fred wanted to chuckle at the dramatic show he was being treated to. Unfortunately, he was too distracted and scared for the idea to take root, and instead he merely stared at the Potions Master, jaw clenched tightly.  
  
"Well, Mr. Weasley? I assume you wanted something other than to disturb my slumber in order to get a good laugh? Not that I don't think that beyond you, just that I believe you'd be smart enough to run very quickly in the opposite direction once I appeared at your rather emphatic summons." Professor Snape didn't look any different in the middle of the night than he did in the middle of the day. He was obviously no less sarcastic, either, despite the fact that they worked together every day for the Order.  
  
"Harry wants you to come."  
  
Snape's expression didn't change at all as he folded his arms over his chest and looked at the redhead through strands of his stringy black hair. "Mr. Weasley, do I look like Mr. Potter's lackey to you?"  
  
Fred clenched his hands into fists at his sides. He was going about this all wrong, and he knew it. Remembering his training, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, pushing away the desire to slam his fist into the stubborn Professor's nose. Shaking with the effort of remaining calm, he released his breath slowly before opening his eyes once more.  
  
"George and I found Dumbledore unconscious in his office. We told Harry, and he told us to get you. You need to come, sir. Quickly."  
  
For a moment, Fred was afraid the enigmatic professor was going to refuse to come. Just as he was preparing to scream at the man for his insensitivity, Snape disappeared from the doorway. Later, the Weasley twin would have to give the Potions Master credit; it didn't take him long to prepare. Mere seconds later, the two were moving at a near run from the dungeons. Neither noticed the figure that pushed itself away from the wall and followed them.  
  
***  
  
The three students stopped in front of the desk, their hands clinging tightly together. Harry's eyes returned to the dark stain on Dumbledore's hand, and he shifted a little, craning his neck to see if it went anywhere else. Ron had pressed his lips together to keep his jaw from dropping; slowly his shoulders squared as he drew on the courage that people didn't often see when they looked at the young Weasley. It was one of the things Harry appreciated most – he could always count on Ron when he really, truly needed him.  
  
Hermione seemed to take it hardest. At first she did nothing more then stare, but she quickly became all business. She, too, tried the various mediwizard spells she'd taught herself, although it was quite obvious that this was far past any skill she had. The witch also felt for a pulse, and her lashes fluttered with relief when she, too, found the thin, unsteady beat. Unfortunately, neither of the boys realized how important it was to keep Hermione occupied when the man she put her utmost faith in was so weakened and helpless. Without something to do, unable to think of a way to help, she began to unravel.  
  
Ron clenched his hands repeatedly, watching while Harry continued to walk around the desk, absently rubbing his throbbing scar. Hermione began to pace, her hands twisting together nervously as she commenced wearing a path in the soft, expensive carpet. When Ron finally looked up, he was shocked to see her ravaged, haunted expression.  
  
"...Hermione?" There was no response. She didn't even look at him; she just kept pacing, mumbling softly to herself.  
  
Ron frowned, straightening as he moved closer. "Hermione. Are you alright?" When he again received no indication of a response from his friend, Ron called out quickly.  
  
"Harry, something's wrong with Hermione."  
  
At the intent words, Harry lifted his head and looked over somewhat distractedly, rubbing his forehead. "Hmm? She's scared, Ron."  
  
"Look at her."  
  
Reluctantly turning away from his inspection and speculation at what could have caused the Headmaster to look so undone, Harry straightened and slid his green eyes over his friend. He took in her pale face, her shaking shoulders and her hands, red from being twined together and pulled forcefully apart.  
  
"Hermione? We'll figure something out. As soon as Madam Pomfrey gets here, she'll tell us how to help him, and Professor Snape should be useful in determining what happened and creating a potion successful in fighting it. It'll be okay."  
  
While Harry wasn't certain that what he was saying was truth – he was dealthy afraid that there wasn't a way to fix this problem – he did his best to sound confident. Ron seemed to believe him; he was nodding in agreement. Hermione, however, didn't seem to have heard at all. As they watched, she began to breathe faster, her breaths quick and shallow. Soon she was nearly hyperventilating.  
  
Harry grimaced, his fingers pressing against his scar as he moved toward her. Ron was closer, and he put an arm around her shoulders so he could guide her toward a chair.  
  
"Come on, Hermione. Let's sit down, okay?" The redhead's voice was abnormally soft and calming; a technique he'd developed a long time ago when trying to soothe Ginny after the twins had pulled some horrible prank. Unfortunately, it didn't seem to have an effect this time. Instead, Hermione jerked back wildly, her gaze vaguely unfocused as she knocked Ron's arm forcefully away from her.  
  
Harry bit his lip nervously. Hermione was never irrational, never out of control like this. He stepped a little closer, then stopped, holding his hand out and his palm up.  
  
"Hermione, it's just Harry. I'm not going to touch you if you don't want me to, but you're really starting to scare us. What's wrong?"  
  
Her only response was to take another step backward, her chest heaving as she stared at them fearfully. Harry stopped, rubbing his scar as he wished desperately that Dumbledore were here to tell him what to do. He'd never seen Hermione act this way before. It was frightening.  
  
"Harry, your scar hurts?" Ron moved to stand next to him, inadvertently but effectively blocking Hermione from leaving the office. Harry nodded absently.  
  
"Yeah, but it's not surprising, is it? Dumbledore..." Harry trailed off, gesturing to the professor's limp form.  
  
Ron nodded hesitantly, then ventured softly – almost as if he was thinking aloud, though he refused to look at Harry as he spoke. "Harry... did your scar hurt yesterday? When I – when I got upset after breakfast?"  
  
Harry's gaze snapped up immediately, his brows furrowing as he tried unsuccessfully to catch Ron's eye. "Why would it matter, Ron?"  
  
The sound of a muffled voice muttering at the door to Dumbledore's office distracted the boys, and they moved quickly to the stairs as Professor Snape entered, immediately followed by Fred.  
  
"Get out of my way." As usual, Snape's voice was cold and abrupt. Oddly, this seemed to comfort Hermione, and the odd hitch in her breathing slowed somewhat. She could deal with a moody, difficult Professor.  
  
After feeling for a pulse, the Potions Master dipped a finger in the thick substance that covered Dumbledore's hand and pooled in a small puddle on the floor behind the desk. Black eyebrows knit together as he sniffed his finger lightly, then rubbed it against his thumb.  
  
Unable to stand the silence and struggling to keep herself under control, Hermione spoke up quietly, without the typical demand that presented itself in most of her questions. "What is it, Professor?"  
  
For a moment, Snape didn't answer , as if he had completely forgotten about the lot of them. He wiped his fingers against his black pants, then spoke up almost nonchalantly. "What do you see on the desk, Miss Granger?"  
  
Although the question was not what she'd expected, Hermione wasn't the type to back down from a question - especially one she could answer. After scanning the desk briefly, she replied with slightly more confidence than before. "Fawke's perch, a stack of four books, another book open atop them. A black feather quill, a piece of parchment entitled 'To Do', a small dish of candy, two purple globes, a remembral and his glasses."  
  
Snape nodded after she finished, opening his bag and beginning to take out small vials of darkly hued liquids, setting each meticulously on the desk. Fred and Ron glanced at each other, shrugged, then moved a little closer to try and read the labels on the potions. Harry merely watched Snape, his hands curled at his sides. It was so difficult to try and trust this man - especially with Dumbledore's life.  
  
He spoke up again, sounding as if he were instructing a class. "Very good, Miss Granger. But the more important thing to note is what's not on the desk."  
  
Harry's eyebrows raised and glanced toward the desk, and Hermione frowned in confusion. "Any number of things are not on the desk, Professor."  
  
"Look again, Miss Granger. You're missing something important."  
  
She frowned, staring again at the desk, though she avoided looking at the Headmaster. It scared her too much. It wasn't until Snape removed an empty vile from his things and knelt behind the desk that realization dawned.  
  
"There's no inkpot. With a quill and parchment obviously in use, there should be a pot of ink somewhere. Is that what's on his hand?" Even as she spoke, the intelligent girl was walking around the desk, obviously looking to see if an inkpot had fallen to the floor. There was nothing there.  
  
Harry spoke up abruptly, cutting off Snape before he could respond. "Can we solve the mystery of the stolen inkpot later and help Professor Dumbledore now?"  
  
Hermione blushed, horrified that she'd forgotten - just for a moment - about the Headmaster's plight. Before guilt consumed her, the Potions Master spoke up once more, seeming slightly distracted, though still revealing his dislike of Harry Potter quite clearly.  
  
"No," he drawled. "We cannot."  
  
"Why not?" Ron interrupted fiercely, ignoring Fred's hand squeezing his shoulder.  
  
Snape whirled around, his long cape billowing out behind him briefly as he glared at Gryffindor's 6th year Prefect. "Because, Mr. Weasley. I cannot treat an illness when I don't know what it is."  
  
Ron's hands tightened further, and he stepped forward furiously, so his greater height become more noticible. "An inkpot won't help you with that!"  
  
Hermione spoke up quickly, her eyes wide. "Ron, don't! It might help. It's the things that are out of order, that are different from usual, that will help us figure this out."  
  
Harry stepped between the Professor and his best friend, briefly meeting Fred's grim gaze before speaking up. "Hermione's right, Ron. I wasn't thinking. Relax. Please."  
  
After a moment, Ron nodded, allowing himself to be pulled backward a few steps. Harry released a breath, lifting a hand to rub his forehead lightly. Snape narrowed his gaze on the infamous Gryffindor, but said nothing. He put a stopper in a vial holding small remnants of the strange liquid and labeled it with Dumbeldore's quill after dipping it with absurd nonchalance into the small puddle that had spilled on the desk. George came running up the stairs just as Snape slid the vial into his belongings. Seconds later Madam Pomfrey hurried into the room, sputtering as she saw the Headmaster.  
  
"My Goodness, what happened to him?" She rushed to his side, immediately feeling for a pulse as she drew out her wand with her free hand.  
  
"We were rather hoping you could tell us." Harry frowned in as Snape spoke, thinking for a moment that the Professor was laughing at the nurse. He pushed the thought aside, pressing his palm against his forehead briefly, exhaling softly.  
  
Snape received no response to his remark, other than a wave of her hand, indicating that they all be quiet. Minutes passed slowly as she alternately spoke spells, gestured with her wand and slid her hand against Dumbledore's forehead, wrist and throat. Hermione hunched her shoulders, arms folded protectively around her waist as she began to pace nervously. Fred, George, Ron and Harry just watched the nurse intently, their gazes fierce. Snape remained utterly still as he waited.  
  
Unfortunately, Hermione didn't have his patience. Abruptly she whirled and stalked up to the desk. "Well? What is taking so damned long!"  
  
Madam Pomfrey didn't even look up, intent on her work as she was. Hermione's hands slammed down atop the desk as she leaned forward menacingly. "Answer me!"  
  
The nurse looked up incredulously even as Harry winced and stepped forward, grasping Hermione's forearm. "Herm-"  
  
Snape interrupted smoothly. "Miss Granger, since you cannot seem to keep your mouth shut long enough to let Madame Pomfrey do her work, I suggest you head over to the library to do something productive. Research the different states of death and unconsciousness, particularly any spells or potions that would render one with a pulse but no breath. Now." His deep voice clearly expressed the statement as a demand rather than a suggestion. Surprisingly, Hermione nodded and turned haughtily, moving quickly for the stairs. Just as soon as she'd left, the Potions Master looked over at the Weasley twins. "Go. Keep her busy."  
  
The twins glanced at each other, then nodded toward the Professor and hurried after Hermione. Madame Pomfrey harrumphed lightly before getting back to work. Ron looked at Harry, who looked back equally confused. They shrugged in unison, then lifted their heads when Snape spoke again.  
  
"I trust that you two can manage to keep quiet, Mr. Weasley? Mr. Potter?" It was clearly a threat.  
  
"Yes, sir," Ron spoke rather dully, not managing to meet the Professor's eyes.  
  
Harry just nodded, rubbing his scar absently as he went back to watching Madam Pomfrey work. After a time, he began to notice the chill of the cold stone floor against his bare feet, and the brush of night air from the open window against his bare chest. Shivering a little, he moved closer to the fire, not noticing that the flames lifted slightly moments later.  
  
Time dragged by slowly. It seemed like hours had passed before Madam Pomfrey finally stood up, rubbing her lower back wearily. Professor Snape unfolded his arms, straightening from the wall he'd been leaning against. Ron stood from the chair he'd been sitting in. Harry just stared at her, as he'd been doing for the past forty-five minutes.  
  
"I honestly have no idea what caused this. I've never seen it before, nor have I read about it. He appears stable - his pulse has not slackened in the least. I need time."  
  
Snape nodded as if it was nothing more than he'd already expected, then picked up one of the vials of potion he'd left out on the desk. As he pulled the stopper loose, he looked toward Madam Pomfrey. "Do you think it's safe to move him?"  
  
She nodded. "I don't see why not, providing it doesn't affect his pulse aversively. We don't have a choice, regardless. We can't just leave him here."  
  
"Is his mind still functioning?"  
  
The nurse stiffened indignantly, her cheeks coloring. "I'm certain I've no idea! I don't go toying in such dark arts, Professor Snape!" Clearly she was offended by the suggestion. For an instant, Harry thought he saw Snape smirk, but he later decided it had just been a trick of the light.  
  
"And what do you think the best course of action is?"  
  
"Lots of rest. I have some restorative potions I can use while I determine the cause of his...condition." Harry glanced warily at Ron, who narrowed his gaze, seeming to find the comment equally absurd. After all that time, her suggestion was to let him rest? It sounded rather ludicrous.  
  
Snape accepted her words with a nod, then handed her the vial he'd opened. "Here, drink this. It helps with memory restoration. Perhaps you've read about something like this before."  
  
Though she was rather irritated by the suggestion of incompetence, she refused to back down before the arrogant Potions Master. Tilting her head back, she downed the bit of liquid, then handed back the vial. Professor Snape accepted it, then grabbed her shoulders, waiting until her gaze seemed to become unsteady before he spoke harshly. "You're tired, you should go back to sleep. You've been having these strange nightmares lately. You won't remember any of this when you wake up in the morning. Now go."  
  
Too stunned to mutter a protest, Harry and Ron watched slack-jawed as Madam Pomfrey nodded vaguely and left the room. Snape didn't even look at them as he shifted through his vials once more, packing away all but one.  
  
Finally Ron found his voice. "What the bloody hell did you do to her? I'm not taking any damned potion from you, either!"  
  
"Just as well, Mr. Weasley, because I wasn't going to give you one. I'm so sorry to disappoint you." He smirked, then uncorked the last vial and very carefully released one drop on the small puddle of liquid on the floor behind the desk. The murky green potion immediately spread, covering the liquid in seconds before beginning to dissipate completely. In moments no trace of the potion or the strange liquid remained.  
  
Harry folded his arms, frowning a bit. "So why did you give her one? Why did you tell her to forget about all of this? She'll know soon enough. Everyone will be in an uproar over what's happened to Professor Dumbledore." If Harry's voice wavered a bit when he spoke the Headmaster's name, neither Ron nor Snape saw fit to point it out.  
  
"They're not going to know, Mr. Potter. A message was delivered to Professor Dumbledore late last night and he left, leaving a note to me to remain as Acting Headmaster." Snape's matter-of-fact tone caused Ron to shake his head in confusion.  
  
"But why?"  
  
"Because we don't want whoever did this to know that they succeeded." Harry replied quietly, then looked toward Snape. "It won't work, though. Professor Dumbledore always leaves Professor McGonagall in charge."  
  
The dark-haired professor just smirked. "Do you honestly think she's going to challenge me, especially in front of students?"  
  
Acknowledging the point, Harry continued. "Alright, but she's going to wonder." He seemed to be taunting the Professor, albeit with rare subtlety.  
  
"Let her."  
  
Ron frowned, but Harry just spoke up again. "You still haven't answered me. Why did you give Madam Pomfrey that potion? And what was it, exactly?"  
  
"Memory suppression - it only works for small commands. I developed it just recently. And because I don't trust her. Now, if you two will excuse me, I have some work to do. Say nothing of tonight to anyone - relay that message to the others. I'll let you know when I've found anything useful." By the time he'd finished speaking, Professor Snape had gathered his belongings and levitated Professor Dumbledore toward the door.  
  
"Wait!" Ron moved quickly to the door, blocking his way. "What are you going to do with him?"  
  
The Potions Professor merely lifted a brow. "I'm going to find out what's wrong with him and fix it. He'll rest in my quarters, for the time being. Now get out of my way, Mr. Weasley, unless you're intending on using your wand for something other than waving it around like you're trying to put out a fire."  
  
"C'mon, Ron, let's go find the others. I'd like to get some sleep tonight, and there's nothing more we can do right now." Harry nudged his friend down the stairs as he spoke, ignoring the sarcastic amusement on Snape's face.  
  
The three left the Headmaster's office, never noticing the shadow that parted from the wall moments later.  
  
***  
  
"We can't not tell anyone, Harry. It isn't right! The Ministry need to know, and so does the rest of the Order." Hermione was just barely managing to keep her outrage to a whisper. A loud whisper.  
  
Harry raked a hand through his perpetually disheveled brown hair, turning away from her to stare out the window as Ron spoke up. "We don't have a choice, Hermione. Snape said not to tell anyone."  
  
"Since when have you advocated listening to Professor Snape, Ron?" She looked ready to throw something.  
  
"This is bigger than us, Hermione! Bloody hell, they got Dumbledore! I'm glad to have someone else make the hard decisions."  
  
"What has that got to do with anything, Ron? The wizarding world has a right to know that Voldemort has gone after Dumbledore - and succeded. More of them will realize how important the fight is. They'll join the Order and help us!"  
  
Harry spoke up tonelessly. "We have no proof. We don't even know if anyone else was around. I've been thinking about it, and this time Snape's right. Telling everyone will just create panic." He turned from the window as he finished, slight purple shadows beneath his eyes.  
  
Unable to argue with that bit of logic, Hermione focused on another topic. "Harry...you should get some sleep. You look awful."  
  
"You're so kind, Hermione, really. Give him a break!" Ron glared at her, taking refuge from confusion in anger.  
  
The Boy Who Lived closed his eyes and turned away from his friends, tuning out their conversation as he methodically gathered clothes for the morning. He didn't notice when they stopped speaking and just watched him silently. He didn't see them exchange a worried glance when he failed to respond to their questions. He just gathered his things and left the room, unable to keep his thoughts from straying to how he'd failed someone he loved. Again.  
  
***  
  
At some point in the morning, three people gathered in a dank room in the basement of Hogwarts.  
  
"Have you learned anything new?" One asked rather hesitantly - as if they weren't certain whether or not they wanted the answer.  
  
"I didn't bring you here for that. When I know something, I'll tell you. Until then, do take care not to pester. I've not the time, nor the inclination for it."  
  
The other clenched a hand in frustration. "Damnit, do you have to be so cryptic? We're on the same side, here!"  
  
"Yes, and you take your orders from me. Kindly remember that."  
  
A third spoke up, frustration thinly veiled by weariness. "So what did you bring us here for?"  
  
"You're going to have to work harder to keep her busy - keep them both busy - before it gets out of hand."  
  
"We're trying-"  
  
A hand slammed against wood. "Not hard enough! If either of them gives, we're in a lot of trouble."  
  
A slight chuckle. "That could only be true if we weren't already."  
  
"I've no time for your foolishness. Go on, before you're late. We'll speak later."  
  
There was a pause, then the sound of a door closing. The last one left the area, leaving no proof that anyone had been there at all.  
  
***  
  
Hermione ran to catch up with Ron as he and the twins left the locker rooms after Quidditch practice. As she moved, her long, untamed hair bounced behind her and slight thumping noises could be heard as the books piled in her arms knocked together with each step.  
  
"Have you heard anything new?" Her tone had dropped drastically, her eyes sharp with intelligence.  
  
All three of the Weasleys shook their heads. "Not a thing, Hermione. Have you found anything noteworthy?" Fred inclined his head toward her books as he finished speaking.  
  
A slight frown furrowed her brow as she shook her head, deliberately slowing her pace as they walked back toward the school. "Not much, to be honest. A few mentions of sleeping draughts that were intended to last years, but none mentioned a lack of breath as an effect."  
  
She paused as the boys nodded, as if she'd said nothing they hadn't expected already. "...How's Harry?"  
  
The question was directed primarily toward Ron, who merely grimaced and shook his head. "Not good, I don't think."  
  
Hermione stopped walking, clutching her books tighter as she forced the others to stop as well. She craned her neck, wishing for just a moment that the Weasleys had stopped growing after third year. "I don't expect him to be all smiles, Ron - but do you think he's exceptionally distraught or anything?"  
  
George lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck. "With all Harry's been through- how would you tell the difference?"  
  
Ron exhaled softly, shaking his head a little. "You don't know Harry like we do, George. And that's just it, Hermione. He's not acting distraught. He's not...well...he's not acting like anything. He hasn't drifted off in class, but he's not super-observant, either. He did just fine on the Quidditch pitch. It's almost like last night didn't happen at all."  
  
Once again she frowned. "He hasn't even said anything to you about it?"  
  
Fred spoke up with a grin. "The boy's got the right idea. We don't want anyone to know what happened, remember?"  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes skyward. "It's one thing to pretend like it's a normal day outwardly, Fred. It's quite another to convince yourself that something terrible didn't happen last night."  
  
"Is that what you think he's doing, Hermione?" This from George, who'd finally begun to look a bit concerned.  
  
"I don't know, I've barely seen him all day. We don't take many of the same classes anymore - Ron does, though, which is why I asked him." She turned toward Ron again, shifting the books in her arms a bit. "You're certain you didn't notice anything out of the ordinary?"  
  
Ron paused, then shook his head. "I did, but I can't figure it out. Something's different, but I don't think it's something that happened because of last night. I've felt like this for a few days now - like there's something I don't know..." He trailed off as the twins exchanged a wary glance, then grit his teeth. "And apparently, I was right. What do you two know that we don't?"  
  
Again Hermione shifted, her gaze somewhat accusing as she looked toward the twins, who were staring evasively at the sky.  
  
"The Aurora Borealis is caused by gases mingling in the air," Fred stated knowingly.  
  
Once more Hermione rolled her eyes, exhaling in frustration. "Actually, I did know that, and you know damned well that that's not what he meant!"  
  
George spoke up quickly, looking slightly abashed. "Look, Hermione....Ron... it's just... it's not our news to tell, okay?"  
  
"Where have I heard that before," Ron spoke up bitterly.  
  
"Hey, you guys. You do realize that you look rather conspicuous, standing out here in the freezing cold, whispering?" Neville smiled, amusement lacing his words, though his eyes remained serious. He said nothing further as he reached over to take Hermione's books from her arms, ignoring her assertion that she could carry them herself.  
  
"We-we weren't whispering! We were....we were talking!" Ron stammered the words out, his voice high and nervous.  
  
Hermione just rolled her eyes, and Neville grinned once more. "I wasn't going to ask what you were talking about - I just thought you'd want to know that if you keep standing still and huddling like this, then everyone else is going to ask you what you were talking about."  
  
George grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck once more. "Thanks, Neville. We weren't thinking." He began to walk back toward the school, motioning for the others to follow him.  
  
"We really ought to make plans to meet up secretly each day, just to see if there's anything new." Hermione spoke matter of factly even as she wondered if she ought to try and catch up with Neville, who had tactfully moved ahead, just out of hearing distance if they kept their voices low. It had suddenly occurred to her that she didn't want anyone to see the subject matter of her studies - not if she wanted to keep Dumbledore's condition a secret. Somehow, though, it didn't really bother her that Neville might look.  
  
"At different times, though. It would look fairly odd if we all started to disappear at the same time every night." This came from Ron, who earned himself glances of surprise and respect from his older brothers.  
  
Fred nodded. "Tonight, then. 9:13 precisely. We'll meet at the closet right next to the portrait of that buxom blonde dairymaid. Y'know the one, right? Peeves hovers there a lot to taunt at students late for classes."  
  
The statement was met with silent agreement, and after a moment George changed the subject. "So, Ron... what do you think about trying to teach the Chasers a modified version of the Wronski Feint as a diversion tactic?"  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes as the three brothers excitedly discussed their favorite topic - the one thing guaranteed to bore her out of her mind. A moment later she went after Neville, disappearing back into the school with him.  
  
***  
  
"So are you planning on telling me what it is you're looking for, or are you just going to pretend that I didn't notice the rather odd books you're compiling?" Neville's gently prodding words caused Hermione to jerk her head up in shock.  
  
Despite himself, Neville smiled. "You don't need to look so panicked, Hermione. I'm not going to push you." He paused, then continued, his voice dropping slightly. "However, if you tell me what you're looking for, I may be able to help. I'm not nearly as smart as you are, but I like reading and I'm not entirely stupid."  
  
Hermione shook her head in dismay, reaching forward impulsively to cover his hand with her own. "Neville, you are not stupid, not in any way. It's just... " She trailed off, turning her head away as she slowly pulled her hand back.  
  
Long seconds passed as Neville watched her silently, his cheeks lightly flushed with embarrassment. Finally he nodded and pushed himself to his feet. "It's alright, Hermione. I'll just leave you to your studying. See you later."  
  
She almost let him go. She tried, she really did. It was just that he was always so helpful, and she felt so damned guilty. Just before he walked out of sight, Hermione called out quietly.  
  
"Neville, wait." She stared at the table, unable to meet his eyes when he looked back at her over his shoulder. Silence reigned for several moments, until finally Neville just shook his head. He wouldn't beg - he'd promised himself he'd never return to being the cowardly child he was trying to grow out of. Once again he turned to leave.  
  
"Tonight, 9:13 precisely. The closet by some portrait of a blonde dairymaid." The words were clipped and barely audible, spoken to the table she was staring so intently at.  
  
Turning his head to hide his smile, Neville nodded. "See you then." This time he really did leave, and Hermione slumped.  
  
"Now I just have to warn Ron," she advised herself.  
  
Silence.  
  
"Without setting him off."  
  
Silence.  
  
"Fucking hell."  
  
***  
  
Harry finished dinner quickly, outwardly calm and inwardly numb. He felt like he'd put his mind on pause, though his head had begun to throb with the effort of not thinking. Beside him, his friends talked with false cheer and what seemed to him to be incredibly obvious pseudo-normalcy.  
  
As soon as he could, Harry made his excuses and hurried from the dining hall, not caring that Ron and Hermione stared after him worriedly.  
  
Once he'd snuck back into Dumbledore's office, Harry exhaled a breath he'd been unaware of holding. He'd been waiting for this moment all day; it had been all he could do to even attend classes and meals.  
  
Silently Harry wandered around the room, his green eyes sliding over the desk, noting the absence of anything that would indicate the incident of the previous night. Even the inkpot was refilled, sitting atop the Headmaster's desk. It didn't really surprise him; Snape was nothing if not anally meticulous.  
  
A long period of time passed as the Gryffindor just wandered around the room, his fingers sliding absently along the various magical artifacts and amusing gadgets that had made up Professor Dumbledore's collection of treasures. He didn't shed a tear as he paced, didn't stifle a sob, didn't even look for clues or information as he should have done.  
  
Late into the evening, Harry grieved the loss of the one person who'd watched over him throughout his entire life. Not without error; there'd been many times when Dumbledore had slipped up. But at least he'd been there, at least he'd cared.  
  
A movement at the edge of his vision caused Harry to turn his head, and he sighed softly as Fawkes settled on his shoulder. Slowly his hand lifted, and he gently rubbed the phoenix's head, giving what comfort he could.  
  
"Why is it that I always lose everyone I care about? Everyone who ever cared about me?" He addressed the bird contemplatively, moving to sit in the high-backed chair behind the desk. His voice was oddly matter-of-fact and conversational, without a hint of self-pity - at first.  
  
"Is it because of Voldemort? I didn't ask to defeat him, y'know. I didn't ask to be pitted against him, to be considered the only person who could beat him. I - I didn't ask to put everyone in danger..." Harry trailed off at the persistent nudging against his neck. He turned toward Fawkes, then grimaced ruefully. "Yeah, I know. We play the hand we're dealt."  
  
He frowned abruptly. "I have a question, though, Fawkes. If you knew his capabilities, why did you give up two feathers for two wands? Why give him the capability to do the horrible things that he does?"  
  
The words seemed to offend the phoenix, as he turned somewhat haughtily and flew from the room. Harry sighed irritably, rubbing his suddenly throbbing scar. "It was a good question," he muttered.  
  
Harry sat still for a bit longer, trying to ignore the pain in his head, then reluctantly pushed to his feet, speaking quietly to himself as he looked around the room one last time. "I will do what's been fortold, Professor. I swear I will."  
  
***  
  
"I need to talk with you." Hermione didn't look at Ron as she spoke almost inaudibly that evening in the common room.  
  
He didn't say a word, just shifted on the couch to let her know he'd heard. Perhaps five minutes later he rose to his feet, gathering up his work and yawning. "McGonagall should be shot for assigning this much work in one week. I'm bloody exhausted."  
  
"She's just lit up 'cause Dumbledore left Professor Snape in charge instead of her." Dean grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck as he stretched. Seeing the move, Ginny reached over, continuing to read as she kneaded his shoulder with one hand.  
  
"No kidding." Ron grinned over at Dean, then frowned abruptly. "Merlin, Ginny, you're in public!"  
  
The girl just rolled her eyes, exhanging a look with Hermione before glancing back toward Ron. "You aren't considered 'public', Ron."  
  
Her brother gestured around the common room at the various other Gryffindors almost incredulously. "And what would that make all them?"  
  
Snickers were heard as the students looked up from the games they were playing and the homework they were doing, grinning in anticipation of another row between Ginny and Ron. Their variations on verbal mudslinging could get quite creative, and since the Weasleys usually ended up laughing in the end, it was pure entertainment every time.  
  
Ginny looked around nonchalantly, then smiled sweetly at her brother. "Unlike yourself, they're not prudes."  
  
A ripple of laughter, quickly smothered, moved through the room, and Ron glared at her. Hermione stood up, gathered her things, and left the common room unnoticed. She glanced behind her to make certain no one was watching, then darted into the boy's wing to wait for Ron.  
  
"Just because you're an exhibitionist doesn't make me a prude, Virginia Weasley!"  
  
"Aww, look at him, Dean. His ears are turning red. He's really embarrassed. How cute!" Ginny's sugary voice wafted into the stairway, and Hermione grinned.  
  
Not wanting to get caught, she reluctantly left the door and moved to Harry and Ron's room. It was such a relief that they had their own room this year - she only wished she could share hers with Ginny, but the girl was too young yet.  
  
Perhaps ten minutes later, the door opened and Ron slipped in, grinning widely. "Oh, I so kicked her ass."  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes, but smiled. "You two have entirely too much fun being mean to each other."  
  
He just smiled at her, not denying it. A moment later he tilted his head curiously. "You needed to talk to me?"  
  
Her smile faded and she took a deep breath, looking around wearily. She really wasn't looking forward to this conversation. "Is there any possibility that Harry might walk in on this, or that anyone's listening outside?"  
  
"I suppose so - I've no idea where Harry is, and some of the guys have Extendable Ears."  
  
"We need to go somewhere else, then."  
  
Ron frowned, then nodded thoughtfully. "Alright, wait here."  
  
He stepped out of the room, disappearing for a minute or so, then poked his head in the door and grabbed his towel, gesturing lightly. "C'mon."  
  
They slipped through the hallway and into the boy's shower room. Ron closed the door, locking it before stuffing the towel under the door. When Hermione parted her lips to speak, he shook his head to quiet her. Though he'd checked just moments before, he again pushed open the stall doors. Satisfied that no one was around, he turned on a few showerheads to cover up their conversation and returned to her side.  
  
"That oughta do it."  
  
"...Why did you turn on the showers?" Hermione was looking at him rather curiously, as if he were a puzzle she needed to figure out. He shrugged briefly.  
  
"Bathrooms tend to echo. The water will help muffle our words."  
  
"Oh..." She trailed off, eyeing her friend with newfound respect. While she'd always known that Ron was far from stupid, it had been awhile since he'd done anything that had both surprised and impressed her.  
  
Disconcerted by the look, Ron glanced away, rubbing idly at his wrist. "So what was it you wanted to talk about?"  
  
Hermione bit her lip, flushing lightly and dropping her gaze to the floor. "I just wanted to... to check in."  
  
He looked back at her, lifting a brow in amusement. "Check in on what? The interior design job on the boy's bathroom?"  
  
She looked up at him, narrowing her eyes angrily. She was nervous, and this was no time to joke around! "No, you git. On Harry."  
  
"I wasn't Harry the last time I checked." Ron smirked, taking a good look at himself in the mirror before shaking his head ruefully. "Nope, still not. Time for glasses, Herm?" He grinned, deliberately using the hated nickname.  
  
"Don't call me that!" Her hands clenched at her sides. She hated that nickname. "And I don't need glasses! I know you aren't Harry, that wasn't what I meant!"  
  
He laughed. "It's entirely too easy to provoke you, Hermione, you know that?" At her accusing glare he sobered, suddenly feeling guilty for being able to relax when Dumbledore was so ill. He leaned back against the wall, folding his arms over his chest. "So what was it that you did mean?"  
  
She huffed lightly, anger provoking her into blurting out what she'd meant to take care revealing. "I'm going to tell Neville everything; I've invited him to the meeting tonight."  
  
His sudden stillness was unnerving. "You did what?" He nearly shouted the words, pushing away from the wall angrily.  
  
"I... I invited him to the meeting. He's got a right to know everything, Ron. Especially if something should happen to us. We need someone else to help Harry!"  
  
"Bloody hell, Hermione, what the fuck is Neville going to do? Twitch at him?"  
  
Her own face darkened with fury. "That isn't fair, Ron."  
  
"You want me to be fair, Hermione? This isn't a bloody game! There's every chance that one or all of us might die when everything finally goes down."  
  
"Merlin, don't you think I know that?"  
  
"You sure as hell don't act like it! Neville, for Merlin's sake! Why didn't you just ask Peeves to help - he'd probably be more effective, and he's incorporeal!"  
  
"Shut up, Ron. Just because Neville's making far more progress in the DA than you are is no reason to be such a jealous, bitter arse." Sufficiently angered to avoid pulling her punches, Hermione struck where it hurt the most - his pride and self-esteem.  
  
Unfortunately, the bright young Gryffindor also forgot what a bad idea it was to anger Ron these days. For weeks later she cursed her own stupidity and lack of control. At the time however, she didn't notice her friend's grasp on sanity vanish. She didn't see the dilation of his pupils or the flush of color that turned his face red. Not until his strong hands closed about her throat, when it was too late.  
  
"Arrogant, know-it-all mudblood!" Ron nearly hissed the words at her. Her eyes widened in panic, and her small hands gripped at his hands, trying unsuccessfully to pry his fingers loose. She'd screwed up royally, this time.  
  
"Ron-" she choked out, blinking back tears as she tried to breathe.  
  
"Shut up!" He shook her, cracking her head back against the wall. Spots blocked her vision, and she whimpered in pain. "You think you know everything, and you don't care whom you hurt so long as you get your way, you stupid bitch!"  
  
Hermione shuddered, her eyes closed tightly as she struggled to keep calm. It was hard; she was terrified. His words hurt her almost as much as the hands cutting off her air, because she knew how irrational they were. She'd forgotten to keep him calm, and it was starting to look like she'd pay for it with her life. Stupid, really, when her goal had been to prevent just this. If only she'd asked Ginny to come.  
  
Ron didn't seem aware of what he was doing as his hands began to tighten, his knuckles white from the strain of constricting around her throat. His eyes were unfocused, his teeth clenched. Had Hermione cared to open her eyes, she wouldn't have recognized him. Then again, she wouldn't have expected to.  
  
"R-Ron, please..." The words barely made it past her throat. She shuddered, trying to keep from swaying. She had to do something - anything - to get past the monster that had taken over her friend. Desperately she opened her eyes, staring at the distorted face in front of her.  
  
Later Hermione tried to analyzed how it all happened, but she couldn't quite figure it out. All she could remember was being terrified and dizzy, and then her lips were against his own.  
  
At the first touch of her mouth, Ron only seemed to get angrier. His lips parted, his teeth nipping painfully at hers. She tried to jerk her head away, but only succeeded in receiving another fierce blow against the wall and increasing his rage. Hermione didn't notice that his hands had moved from her neck to her hair, where they held her head back in a painful, pliant position as he seemed to try and devour her.  
  
Abruptly his mouth moved, and she panted heavily, gasping for air. A sharp yelp of pain echoed throughout the bathroom as his teeth sunk into the hollow of her throat, and her arms jerked as she fought the reflex to push him away. Fighting him wasn't going to work, she knew that instinctively.  
  
Automatically her hands lifted to his head, stroking his hair with deliberate, choppy movements. Her loud panting began to slow and she closed her eyes tightly, trying to ignore the horribly violated feeling his actions induced.  
  
"Ron - Ron, please," she whispered on a sob. Stranglely, it seemed to reach the boy somehow, for although his teeth continued to gnaw the flesh at her jawline, they gentled slightly.  
  
Tears slid down the young girl's face as she forced her hands to ease against his skull, until her fingers threaded through his hair, massaging gently. When his mouth came down on hers again, she flinched but didn't fight him. Her lips parted beneath his own, and her tongue timidly sought his, trying to set a gentler tone than the previous invasion.  
  
Moments later a shudder ran down Ron's spine, and his eyes closed tightly. Tears spiked his lashes as his kiss gentled. Tenderly his tongue brushed her lips, soothing the throbbing skin with uncommon patience. When his lips slanted against hers once more, they did so without demand or desire to force a response. Instead they offered an apology, and his hands slid slowly down her arms to thread his fingers through her own.  
  
When the rough sobs that had shaken her body seemed to slow, Ron lifted his head and took a deep breath, his eyes closed.  
  
"Hermione," he whispered hoarsely. "I'm so so sorry. I felt it come, but I wasn't quick enough..." He trailed off, then opened his eyes to look at her. Abruptly he flinched, pulling away immediately, all color drained from his face.  
  
"Oh Merlin, did I do that to you?" Ron stared at the mass of bruises on her neck, starting to shake. His eyes traveled over the imprints of his fingers, the darkening skin surrounded by the rounded grip of his own teeth.  
  
Hermioned wrapped her arms tightly around her waist, her head ducked. She couldn't stand to look at him, didn't want to think about what had occurred - especially the last bit of it. Another sob slipped from her throat, and she edged toward the door.  
  
"Wait! Hermione, please - I won't hurt you again, I swear it. But you can't go out like that, I..." he trailed off, turning away and trying to swallow past the lump in his throat. He couldn't look at her, couldn't bear to see the marks that he'd put on her. It was unthinkable that he'd been able to hurt her.  
  
"I - I'm sorry, I - I have to go. I didn't mean to... it's not your fault. I sh-should have..." She lifted her head suddenly, staring at him pleadingly. Ron wished he knew what she wanted. He didn't understand that she needed to be held, needed the imprint of the monster replaced with something else. It didn't even occur to him that she'd want him anywhere near her after what he'd done.  
  
Hermione knew she couldn't stand there any longer. She could barely breathe past the rock of guilt and fear that sat in the bottom of her lungs. Unable to say another word, she raced for the door, forgetting that he'd locked it magically.  
  
Ron almost cried when he saw her frantic tugging on the door that refused to open. He stepped closer, hating the tension that filled her frame as he drew his wand.  
  
"Alohomora."  
  
A soft cry of relief escaped her throat as the door jerked open. Uncaring that anyone might see her, Hermione raced out the door, disappearing down the stairs.  
  
***  
  
"Do you think we're doing the right thing?"  
  
Being twins allowed the Weasley's a certain advantage; while they couldn't literally read each other's minds, they always knew what the other was thinking.  
  
"Keeping Harry's secret, y'mean? Not certain." George frowned as he poured two drops of a purple liquid into a small jar, then cursed as the mixture turned brown instead of yellow. "Bloody damned son of a squib."  
  
Despite the serious topic at hand, Fred grinned, looking up for a moment from his so-called Evil Sensor - which still wasn't working how he wanted it. "You're adding too much."  
  
"I put in two bloody drops, like Snape said!"  
  
Fred shrugged, narrowing his eyes at the contraption he was currently picking apart. "Your drops are too big."  
  
George cursed again, then flung the dropper across the room. Fred looked up at the sound of glass breaking, then lofted a brow.  
  
"I always thought that one was a bit of a stroppy cow, myself," he said nonchalantly of the destroyed dropper.  
  
"Oh, shut up." George huffed, then shoved his fingers through his hair. "Why is it I'm mixing the potion when you're better at it?"  
  
"Because I take great enjoyment watching you destroy our tools."  
  
Fred grinned when George thought for a moment, then nodded in agreement. "I see your point."  
  
Perhaps a second later a bright flash burst from the Sensor, promptly followed by a hiss and the distinctive smell of something burning. Fred yelped, jumping away from the destructive tablet.  
  
"Son of a motherless goat! That's the fifth time today - knock it off!"  
  
George laughed, watching his brother shake his fist at the inanimate object, then swipe it off the table. "Well, you certainly told it who's boss."  
  
Fred just rolled his eyes, then sunk down onto the dilapitated sofa that comprised the furniture in the old potions classroom, aside from a few tables and a shelving unit. "I think we're setting ourselves up for a fall, and I really don't understand why we're doing it. Telling them everything will only help us."  
  
George dumped out the failed potion, speaking quietly. "We're not telling them because he doesn't want us to."  
  
"He's not being rational, George, and you know it."  
  
Again the twin nodded, beginning to prepare the potion yet again. "I know."  
  
"Then why are we listening to him? This isn't something insignificant that can be overlooked!"  
  
"Because it's his life, and he's been given little control over it as it is. Because Dumbledore told us to wait just a bit longer." He paused then, his voice dropping to just slightly more than a whisper, soft with regret and resignation. "...But mostly because it may be the last thing we can do for him, Fred."  
  
***  
  
She almost made it out without getting caught.  
  
Unfortunately, sneaking out of the boy's dorm was far easier when one actually cared about not being seen. Hermione wasn't thinking clearly enough to give a shit, though she cursed herself when she felt an hand close about her arm. She jerked it quickly, not bothering to look back as she raced forward, struggling not to cry.  
  
The grip didn't give and she came to an abrupt halt, then stumbled backward, unable to stifle a small whimper of fear.  
  
"Hermione?"  
  
Abruptly Hermione spun and sunk against Dean's chest, clenching her teeth to stop them from chattering. His arms wrapped around her automatically, and he stared down at the girl, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. Hermione never panicked like this.  
  
"Merlin, what happened to you?"  
  
She shook her head, forcing herself to step backward, already regretting the weak moment where she'd turned to someone else for comfort. "Nothing, I'm - I'm fine."  
  
Dean rolled his eyes in exasperation, though his words were gentle when he spoke. "Hermione, you're shaking. Come on, you can't stay out here." He pushed the door behind him open, gesturing to his room.  
  
Once again she shook her head, taking another step backward. "No, I...I should leave. I'm not supposed to be here. Besides, I....I...I told Ginny I'd meet her ten minutes ago!"  
  
Despite himself, Dean smiled. "Well, you've come to the right place. She's in here. Come on."  
  
Hermione blushed in embarrassment, but saw no help for it. She folded her arms across her chest defensively, then walked into the room, taking extreme care to avoid even brushing Dean as she walked by.  
  
As soon as she looked around, Hermione wished she'd just stayed in bed this morning. Waking up made things entirely too complicated. Neville looked up from his homework, smiling.  
  
"Hermione, what are you - what the hell happened?" By the time he'd finished speaking, Neville had crossed the room and gripped her shoulders tightly.  
  
Humiliated and ashamed, the young girl ducked her head, shaking her hair forward to try and hide the bruises that marred her throat. "Don't."  
  
"Don't what? Don't mention the fact that someone decided you'd look better in purple? Who the hell was it!" He demanded in a furious tone that she'd never heard before from Neville.  
  
"Neville!" Ginny crawled out from underneath Dean's bed and hurried toward her friend. Quickly she placed a hand atop the angry boy's. "You're hurting her, yourself. Let go. Dean, close the door."  
  
"No one, nothing, I'm fine. Truly!" Hermione lifted her head, forcing a rather pathetic smile. She didn't realize that her eyes looked unfocused and haunted, but the others did.  
  
"No, you're not. Sit down. Neville, go get some water from the common room. Dean, go with him." Dean lifted a brow at Ginny's demanding tone, but he understood what she was doing. He had no intention of following Neville, of course - someone had to guard the door - but Hermione didn't need to know that.  
  
Neville didn't particularly like the idea of being forced to leave, either, but he went along when Dean gripped his arm and practically shoved him out the door. It closed behind them, leaving the two girls staring at each other silently. Hermione was the first to drop her gaze.  
  
Ginny took a deep breath, releasing it slowly and praying for patience. She moved forward to sit next to her friend, then very carefully wrapped an arm around Hermione's shoulder, holding her for a few silent minutes.  
  
"Feel like talking about it?"  
  
Hermione shook her head, closing her eyes tightly. She didn't want to talk about it; she was trying not to even think about it. It wasn't working, of course, but effort counted, right?  
  
"You probably should, Hermione. Besides, if you don't tell me now, I won't stop the boys from questioning you - and something tells me that you don't want that."  
  
The bright young Gryffindor absorbed the matter-of-fact statement without response, and her brows knit as she thought carefully about the ramifications of what she had to say. She'd made the mistake once of not thoroughly planning her strategy; she wasn't about to make the same mistakes again.  
  
"Ginny... you're not going to like it."  
  
The redhead shrugged blithely. "There are a lot of things that I don't like, Hermione. I already don't like this situation. You're not going to change that much."  
  
Her nonchalant attitude irritated Hermione, causing her to completely forget her resolution just seconds before to think before she spoke. Instead, she blurted out the words, wanting to prove the other girl wrong.  
  
"It was Ron."  
  
Ginny paled, shook her head. "I'm sorry... say that again?"  
  
Hermione bit her lip, wincing as she watched the color drain from the other girl's face. "I...Ron did this."  
  
Ginny closed her eyes tightly, then stood. "I don't believe you!"  
  
Once again Hermione winced, then simply lifted her head and met Ginny's distraught gaze. "The anger, Gin."  
  
The youngest Weasley seemed to deflate before her very eyes. She sunk back onto the bed, then pressed her palms against her eyes. "Oh, God..."  
  
She hadn't wanted to admit it, but she knew this was going to happen. Knew Ron would go off sometime when she wasn't around. It was her fault - she hadn't been there like she'd promised.  
  
"Go find him, Ginny. He's in the shower room, and... he remembers, this time."  
  
"Oh, God." The redhead paled even further, if that were possible. "I can't leave you - I'll send Dean."  
  
Again Hermione shook her head. "No, you're his sister. You need to talk to him. I just - I can't right now, okay?"  
  
Ginny bit her lip, then nodded reluctantly and stood up. "Don't go anywhere, okay? Stay until Dean and Neville come back. It's probably not a good idea for you to be alone, right now." She moved toward the door, then paused and looked back, her hands wringing together nervously.  
  
"Did you want to say something, Gin?"  
  
Again the Weasley bit her lip, then stared at some point on the far wall as she requested softly. "I hate to ask, but...it might help me with Ron. How...um...how far did it go?"  
  
"He choked me, Ginny - or perhaps you didn't notice." Hermione literally snapped the words.  
  
Ginny nodded, then exhaled softly. "I did. But Hermione? Your lips are bruised..."  
  
Immediately the brunette lifted a hand to brush her fingers against her swollen lips. She ducked her head and nodded a little. "He kissed me – if you could call it that."  
  
"I - I'm sorry, Hermione. That must've been awful, to be touched that way by a friend."  
  
She just nodded, saying nothing more until Ginny reluctantly left the room.  
  
"Yeah, awful."  
  
A pause, then a soft, despairing groan.  
  
"Too bad I liked it."  
  
***  
  
This wasn't happening. It just wasn't. He absolutely refused to believe that he could lose control of himself so badly. That he could hurt Hermione, of all people. Ron slid his hands through his hair for perhaps the tenth time, then grit his teeth and turned, thrusting a fisted hand into the wall. Numbly he looked down, noting the bloody knuckles with a smirk of self-disgust. At least this time he'd hurt himself. Merlin, he felt sick.  
  
It was the last thought he had for a few minutes as he knelt over a toilet, retching violently. Nothing came up, but he couldn't seem to stop the clenching of his stomach. Finally he sat, collapsing back against the wall, his forehead beaded with sweat as he groaned softly. His heart thudded painfully in his chest, and he couldn't seem to rub it away. He kept seeing the horror in her eyes, the bruised look of her neck and her lips before she'd run out. Again his stomach rebelled against his thoughts, though he managed to swallow the taste of bile in his throat.  
  
Eventually the distraught Gryffindor managed to gather himself to his feet and lurch toward the shower, dragging his clothes off as he went. Once inside, he stood beneath the powerful spray, his head tilted up to welcome the scalding hot water. He parted his lips, swallowing what he could, his arms shaking as his palms braced against the wall. Ron never knew how long he stood there, bowing his head at some point and just letting the water rush over him. He didn't notice when the shower turned cold - he was trembling just as badly when he finally turned the water off as he had been before he turned it on. An aching numbness resided in his throat, and for awhile it was all he could do to drag in air. But slowly warmth returned to his body, and with it a fierce determination. This would not happen again. He wouldn't allow something - someone - to control him in such a manner.  
  
Ron had never been a fool. He knew that he wasn't the bravest of blokes - or the smartest, or the most talented. But he was loyal, and he had never backed down when his friends needed him. Even if sometimes it had taken him awhile to step up, he always did, in the end. This time would be no different. What he and Hermione had allowed to happen was now affecting the people he cared about in a most horrible manner, and he wouldn't tolerate it any longer.  
  
As he dried himself off, Ron stared at his face in the mirror. He didn't look any different, but he felt different. Later he'd decide that everyone had moments in their lives where something changed drastically. They were the moments that had the power to make or break people. Ron remembered the look in Harry's eyes after he'd faced Voldemort their first year; more than that, he remembered the change that had come over his friend after the death of Cedric, and again after Sirius. Harry'd been having defining moments and growing up for years now. This time, it was his turn. It was long past time he stopped being a passenger waiting for the train to stop.  
  
As he finished dressing, a light knock on the door lifted his head.  
  
"Ron..? Ron, are you in there? Anyone? Beware the girl, I'm coming in!" It was Ginny.  
  
Ron just stared at her as she walked inside, closing the door quickly behind her.  
  
"Are you alright? You look horrible. Hermione said-" She broke off her rambling words when her brother lifted his hand. Silently her green eyes searched his own, clearly worried.  
  
"It's okay, Gin. No, I'm not alright." He lifted his chin, his gaze narrowing when she started to protest. "But I will be, Gin. I will be. I promise."  
  
She walked closer, resting a hand on his arm, her gaze concerned as she bit her lip, wondering just how far to push. Surprisingly, his hand shifted, his fingers linking with her own and squeezing tightly.  
  
"It'll be okay. I'm going to fix all this. It won't happen again. But Gin, I want you to do me a favor."  
  
"Anything."  
  
He took a deep breath, squeezing her hand again and meeting her eyes directly. She sucked in a breath - her brother looked... old. Like... like Harry. A shiver of apprehension ran up her spine - something told her she wasn't going to like his request.  
  
She was right.  
  
***  
  
"Forget it, Potter. You're never going to be able to do this right. Crabbe and Goyle learn faster than you do. I suggest you give up and accept the fact that you're worm's meat." A dry chuckle followed Malfoy's mocking words, and the blond turned and moved toward the other side of the room, wiping his arm against his forehead.  
  
"Fuck off, Malfoy. You're just terrified that I'll figure it out and use it on you. You can't handle pain, and we both know it. Bloody hell, every time you end up in the Infirmary, you stay twice as long as anyone else with the same injury would." Even as he spat out the words, Harry gratefully lowered his wand, panting softly. Sweat dripped unhindered from his jaw as he took the moment to gather his strength. He'd been so distracted tonight - half of Malfoy's attacks had hit him dead on. Luckily, however, he'd avoided using the Unforgivable Curses. Privately, Harry thought he'd be dead by now if Malfoy hadn't arrogantly decided that there were other things he needed to learn first.  
  
The Slytherin surprisingly reacted without anger. Instead he rolled his eyes and sank down onto a sofa, making himself comfortable as he eyed the dripping Gryffindor.  
  
"Give me a break, Potter. The best way to find out what's happening in other Houses is through the Infirmary. All sorts of gossip is relayed to those resting there. You'd be surprised what someone can learn while faking that they're asleep."  
  
It was Harry's turn to roll his eyes. "Right, Malfoy. Like anyone would forget to guard their words around you. Name one thing you've learned that doesn't pass through the entire school's gossip mill."  
  
Draco narrowed his gaze, stiffening slightly. A smirk crossed his lips, and he leaned back languidly. He watched Harry unobtrusively as he drawled slowly, "I've learned that Dumbledore wasn't called away by some mysterious letter."  
  
The young Gryffindor whirled around, green eyes flaring wide behind his glasses. His hands fisted tightly at his sides, but he managed to choke back his reponse long enough to sound just slightly nonchalant when he replied, "...What makes you think that?"  
  
Harry flinched lightly when Draco just laughed, idly twirling his wand through his fingers. "You suck at lying, Potter. You know full well what I'm talking about."  
  
"I most certainly do not!"  
  
Abruptly Draco abandoned his relaxed posture, sitting up and placing his feet on the floor, elbows resting atop his knees as he clasped his wand between his linked hands. "Who the hell do you think you're talking to, Potter? I'm a Malfoy. We're...trained, shall we say - in the ability to separate lies from truth. Don't you dare think that you - Hogwart's own Golden Boy - can even come close to me when it comes to deception." The words were almost hissed at Harry, who paled, then volleyed derisively.  
  
"You would find that something to be proud of, Malfoy."  
  
Draco laughed, though he didn't exactly sound amused. "You're right, I do. At least I know how to keep a secret - you give absolutely everything away."  
  
Harry clutched his wand tightly, struggling not to react. "I have no idea what you're rambling about."  
  
Once again the other boy laughed, then pushed himself to his feet, slowly advancing toward the Gryffindor, who held stock still.  
  
"Of course not, Potter. That's why Fred and George Weasley - merely adequate Quidditch players - were called in to coach for an entire semester for one game. Curious, isn't it, that their father has called in to work since the night the Death Eaters escaped from Azkaban?" Draco smiled rather maliciously, folding his arms over his chest as he began to pace casually, continuing to speak with nauseating arrogance. "Then there's the Weasel's abrupt and rather obvious bout of anger in the dining hall the other day. While rash and quite stupid, he doesn't generally fly off the handle like that. Add in Dumbledore leaving control of the school to Professor Snape without any indication to McGonagall - who was clearly shocked when the announcement was made at breakfast - and things begin to look more than a bit suspicious."  
  
He stopped, standing almost on top of Harry's shoes as he looked down disdainfully at the boy. His voice hovered just above a whisper when he finally spoke. "And then there's you, Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived, who's outsmarted the infamous Lord Voldemort time and time again, coming to me for help. "  
  
"To learn the Unforgivable Curses, which you could be locked up for even knowing!" Harry nearly shouted the words, his cheeks flagged with embarrassment as he flung up his wand arm, only to have it gripped tightly at the wrist.  
  
"Feeling defensive, Potter?" Draco smirked knowingly as he dug his nails into Harry's skin, who opened his mouth to speak, then went abruptly silent. The Gryffindor pressed his lips together in a tight, thin line. His green eyes never wavered from the intense, mocking grey of the Slytherin.  
  
"Well, at least you're smart enough to know that speaking at all would only incriminate yourself further." Malfoy waited another moment, silently relishing the defiant glare he was receiving. He smirked to himself. This really was entirely too easy.  
  
The satisfaction vanished abruptly when a powerful left hook took him by surprise, quickly followed by a knee to his left inner thigh. Draco staggered backward in pain, cursing loudly.  
  
"Son of a Muggle-born bitch, Potter! What the fuck was that for?"  
  
Harry just stared at Malfoy, not even bothering to rub his hand. His wand remained drawn and steady, pointed directly at the other boy.  
  
"As you said, Malfoy...I'm smart enough to know when speaking wouldn't help." The words were deadly soft, determination throbbing in each syllable. "Luckily...I'm not completely helpless without a wand, like some are."  
  
Draco's pale skin flushed with anger. He lifted his wand quickly, and for long moments the two faced each other squarely, neither blinking. No hands trembled, no ragged breaths drew in or released in uneven rhythm. Had anyone been present, they'd have thought the sight odd at the very least. Perhaps the eerie calm would have frightened them, for such a potentially deadly scene rarely passed with such stillness.  
  
Time passed - or didn't. Neither boy noticed or cared, until finally Harry's wand lowered, then slid in a smooth motion into his sleeve as he abandoned his position and straightened. Green eyes keenly watched the Slytherin, who had yet to sheath his own weapon.  
  
"Perhaps you ought to tell me what it is you think you know, Malfoy." The only surprise in the sentence was the lack of malevolence attached to the tone, and it was apparently sufficient enough to allow Draco to release himself from his frozen position.  
  
Casually the taller boy straightened, tucking away his wand and turning his back on the Gryffindor as he moved calmly to the opposite side of the room to pour himself a glass of water, kept on hand for their infrequent breaks. He swirled the contents of his glass idly, as if it were wine he intended to savor, and once more silence reigned until he seemed to come to some sort of decision. Harry watched with ill-concealed impatience, and only when his hands finally fisted in frustration did Draco take a large gulp of his water and set it aside. He fixed his gaze on Harry, then settled himself on the sofa once more.  
  
"I believe we are at somewhat of an impasse, Potter. You see, I know better than to give away the upper hand. While I imagine you know much of what I know, you still have not connected all the dots yet. However," he paused, lifting his gaze to the ceiling as if searching for answers before allowing it to return to the other boy. "I am also aware that there are things that I do not know, and I believe that some information that you have is possibly more valuable than you might think. Normally I would never give such a thing away, however these are not normal times. I am beginning to believe that time is running out for me to attain the goal I've set for myself."  
  
"Which is?" Harry interrupted, his voice laced with impatience.  
  
Draco smiled briefly, then tilted his head forward a bit, as if conceding a point. "The Death of the Dark Lord, of course."  
  
A soft gasp of shock followed the words, quickly replaced by the wary narrowing of green eyes. "What?"  
  
"Sit down, Potter, before you further disgrace yourself by fainting of shock." Harry didn't realize he was doing as Malfoy instructed until he felt the cushion beneath his thighs.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Why do I want him dead, or why am I telling you?" Draco smirked a bit as he watched Harry try to shove away the confusion. Predictable boy.  
  
"I...both."  
  
"I want him dead because he destroyed something of mine."  
  
Images, dark and horrific, flashed through Harry's mind, and he looked at the other boy with sudden clarity. "Your father. He killed your father."  
  
Draco couldn't hide his shock. "How do you know about that?"  
  
Harry bit his lip and glanced away, shrugging lightly and speaking quietly. "I...saw it. The other night, when you..." He trailed off, suddenly horrified that he'd inadvertently intruded on Malfoy's most private memories.  
  
"You saw... When I what?" Draco paled as he hissed the words from clenched teeth. He did not like the idea of the insufferable Boy Who Lived venturing into his private thoughts.  
  
"Damnit!" Harry muttered the word in self-disgust, turning away and lifting a hand to rub wearily at the back of his neck. He closed his eyes, saying nothing further as he silently pondered how badly his foot was going to taste this time around. Knowing other people's thoughts was about as appreciated in the wizarding world as being a Parselmouth.  
  
"Potter, I'm not going to repeat myself." The two boys had argued enough over the years to know the difference between a real breaking point and a public breaking point. One was mostly glitter - a show to put on because it was expected. The other was far more serious, and accounted for far fewer of their encounters. Draco's tone immediately alerted Harry to the fact that he'd not only crossed the line, he'd ventured into entirely new territory.  
  
"Draco, listen..." It was the first time Harry had ever called Draco by his given name - and the Slytherin never noticed. Anger and pain blazed fiercely from the boy's grey eyes, and Harry flinched from the sight, lifting a hand in useless supplication. "First...try and understand... I didn't do it on purpose."  
  
"Potter, if you don't just spit it out, I swear to Salazar I'll turn you inside out and hang you from the ramparts!" Draco was swiftly losing his control. So lost in his own guilty confession, Harry failed to recognize the severity of the situation. He blurted out his answer angrily, his own anger sparked.  
  
"The night you went bloody mad and nearly killed me, I slipped into your mind and saw your father murdered while you stood by and did nothing, alright!"  
  
"God damn you!" Draco's anguished, infuriated shout was followed instantly by the force of the taller boy rushing at Harry, slamming him into the wall. His head cracked back against the stone, his cry of pain cut short by the fist that snapped at his lower jaw.  
  
Furious at the reminder of that horrid night and desperate to kill the guilt that threatened to choke him, Draco didn't really notice the damage he was doing to Harry. Again and again his fists slammed into the other boy, connecting with anything he could reach.  
  
For Harry, the physical pain of the beating was secondary to his own guilt at having provoked it. He knew what it felt like to watch as someone died, knew how twisted Voldemort could be. How could he have been so insensitive? Appalled at his own behavior, Harry thoughtlessly allowed his wand to fall from his fingers and lifted his hands in attempt to ward off the worst of the blows.  
  
Eventually the inevitable happened, and Harry couldn't prevent the hoarse shout of pain that lept from his throat as his rib snapped. He doubled over, cursing and blinking back tears as Malfoy finally stepped away to look down at his bloody fists somewhat incredulously.  
  
"Shit." Draco turned his back on the other boy and walked to the water pitcher, suddenly desperate to clean his hands. By the time he'd finished pouring water over his knuckles and drying them on his shirt, his breathing had calmed considerably. Wearily he looked back at the Gryffindor, who'd fallen to his knees, arms wrapped around his chest. Guilt flooded his cheeks with color, and he grabbed the pitcher and crouched in front of Harry.  
  
"Take off your shirt and let me see." The words were spoken gruffly, weighted by his own embarrassment, though there was enough starch in his tone to indicate that he'd not forgotten the other boy's remarks.  
  
Harry shook his head quickly, not quite meeting Draco's eyes. "I'm fine, really. Just - ow, damnit!"  
  
He broke off as Malfoy reached forward and grabbed the hem of his shirt, yanking it over his head and causing no small amount of pain at the abrupt movement.  
  
"Just be still, will you? Tell me if this hurts." Harry clenched his jaw as Draco began sliding his fingers along his bruised ribs, finding tender spots now and again. Carefully Draco prodded the other boy's chest, seeking the extent of the damage he'd caused, until finally Harry drew in a swift breath of pain.  
  
Draco glanced up at the Gryffindor, noting the glazed green eyes and the unusually pale cheeks, and winced himself. "Sorry, Harry." He murmured the words thoughtlessly, missing the shock in the Gryffindor's expression.  
  
After a bit Draco sat back on his ankles, resting his hands on his thighs as he addressed the other boy. "I broke two ribs, I think - but everything else is just bruises. You have two options; you can go to Madam Pomfrey to fix them, or you can let me do it. Your choice."  
  
Harry stared at Draco, still trying to process his thoughts. He hadn't a clue what had possessed the Slytherin to check over his injuries. He'd thought Malfoy liked causing pain. Furthermore, Draco's used his name. While obvious that he hadn't realize that he'd done it, it was still quite confusing, and he shook his head slightly - he was missing something, and he didn't like the feeling.  
  
"You can do it, I suppose. I really don't want to try explaining this to Madam Pomfrey right now." Harry made the excuse as nonchalantly as possible. He carefully ignored that he was beginning to trust Malfoy - it was just too much to deal with, right now.  
  
Draco released a breath he'd not been aware of holding. He hadn't realized how much he wanted to be able to make amends for his own transgressions. Perhaps it was because he hadn't been able to before- No, damnit, forget that! Quickly he gathered his thoughts, redirecting them purposefully. Gripping his wand, he narrowed his eyes on Harry's chest, not noticing how intent his gaze was - or how much longer than necessary he stared at the lightly tanned skin, marred slightly by marks that were slowly beginning to darken.  
  
"Malfoy." The name elicited no response whatsoever, and Harry squirmed lightly, flushing a bit under the Slytherin's inspection. To cover up his unease, he chuckled lightly. "I know I'm good looking, but there's no need to stare."  
  
Immediately Draco flicked his eyes away, fighting embarrassment as Harry ruthlessly buried the bit of disappointment that he started to feel. Bloody hell, I'm really starting to lose it. The dark haired boy shook his head in self derision.  
  
"I think you need to trade in your Vanity Mirror for a TruView, Potter." Draco drawled, referring to the magically enhanced mirrors that wiped away any unflattering attributes.  
  
"Just shut up and get on with it, Malfoy." Harry grumbled irritably, trying not to fidget.  
  
Draco rolled his eyes, but aimed his wand toward Harry's torso and gestured briefly. Long minutes later the Gryffindor leaned back against the stone, his eyes closed as he breathed quietly, feeling his bones solidify in a most painful manner. He managed to keep it under control, however, and a slight smile graced his lips when he felt the bruises fade, a sensation much like sand trickling free from a fisted palm.  
  
The sight of the relaxed boy caused unexpected heat to flush through Draco's body, and he shifted uncomfortably, trying to ignore his panic. Quickly he tried to distract himself.  
  
"There, it's done. And don't worry Potter, I won't tell anyone how you whimpered like a girl." He smirked, watching the anger rise in the other boy's eyes.  
  
"That I - I did no such thing, Malfoy!" Harry stiffened indignantly, hands fisting at his sides.  
  
Draco took one look at the sheen of fury in Harry's eyes and cursed mentally. Abruptly he pushed himself to his feet, turning his back on the other boy and gathering his belongings with forced nonchalance as he spoke derisively.  
  
"Tell yourself whatever you have to so you can sleep at night, Potter. I'm certain I don't care. I have plans, and I'm late for them because you were such a bloody wuss, so I trust you'll excuse me." He didn't wait for a response, moving quickly for the door.  
  
"Get back here damnit, we have things to discuss!" The words came out without thought, and as Harry replayed them in his head he winced. He'd sounded like a whining git. Damn Malfoy, anyway!  
  
Draco turned, smirking contemptuously. "I'm flattered that you want to spend time with me, Potter, really. Unfortunately you're not high on my list of priorities, amusing as kicking your ass can be. As for the rest of it, perhaps tomorrow. If I feel like it." He turned away once more, yanking the door open with scarcely controlled haste and leaving the room.  
  
The door closed behind him, and Harry grit his teeth. This was going to be hell.  
  
***  
  
"You're late," George commented mildly to the rest of the group after they'd moved away from the main staircases. They'd kept up appearances, chatting mildly when they'd met. Luckily Ginny was getting special privledges lately, what with her brother and best friend both being Prefects. She was able to stay out the extra hour that upperclassmen were allowed, so long as she was discreet about it.  
  
"With good reason." Ginny's chin jutted out stubbornly as she glared at her brother before following Fred into the temporarily remodeled cloak closet they'd decided to hold the meeting in.  
  
"Which is?"  
  
Ron spoke up wearily, avoiding looking anywhere remotely close to Hermione's location. "I lost control again."  
  
George closed the door quickly, then folded his arms over his chest. "What? Explain."  
  
His brother shook his head, gesturing briefly toward Hermione. "I don't need to. Just look at her."  
  
The twins flicked their gazes over Hermione, then stared in horror. Neville just clenched his fists tighter, glaring venemously at Ron.  
  
"How could this happen? You were just reinforced yesterday!" Fred gaped at his brother in shock and just a small bit of disgust.  
  
Unable to hold his gaze as guilt rolled through him, Ron looked away, shrugging briefly.  
  
It was Hermione who finally spoke up. "Dumbledore did the work, and he's unconscious. Perhaps it was something he needed to continually monitor."  
  
George raked a hand through his hair. "Bloody hell! We were counting on that protection! Is there any way to be certain?"  
  
"I don't think so. Our main source of information is currently unreachable, and I don't know of any others who can do Occlumency, much less do it well. Save for Harry, of course."  
  
"So why not just ask Harry?" Neville's tone was unusually stiff, and his gaze barely flickered from Ron's form.  
  
Hermione shook her head lightly, rubbing her temples. "Because we can't. Look, everyone sit down. There are things I need to tell you."  
  
For the first time since she'd run out on Ron, her gaze deliberately sought his own. At his nod of approval, her stomach seemed to unclench, and she stared at him as she took a deep breath, then began her story.  
  
***  
  
Draco flung himself on his bed, rolling onto his back and dragging an arm over his face. That had not gone as planned. He'd done some hard thinking after he'd lost control the previous night, and he'd managed to determine a goal for himself. It wouldn't matter what happened to Harry Potter, not so long as he got what he wanted: Voldemort's head on a platter. If that meant causing Potter a rather large quantity of pain, Draco was fine with it. He was even okay with the possibility of the idiot Gryffindor's death, so long as he got what he wanted in the end.  
  
So why had he bothered to heal the little prick? For one split second he tried to convince himself that he'd only done it because he couldn't afford to lose Potter so early in the game, but he couldn't make himself believe it. Shifting his hips to get more comfortable, he stared up at the ceiling, allowing himself the distraction of the false night sky he'd created out of boredom some weeks ago. After a bit, when his breathing had eased and the tight pit of panic in his gut had finally eased, he allowed his thoughts to return to his own actions.  
  
It seemed most likely that he'd just wanted to opportunity to gain Potter's trust. He was trying to convince the stupid git to tell him what the hell the Order of the Phoenix was up to, after all. It only made sense that he'd want the Boy Who Lived to think he was trustworthy. He'd probably succeeded, too, if Potter's frustration when he left was any indication. In fact, it was better that he'd refused to stay at the end - it wouldn't do to suddenly act supportive and trustworthy. Potter was a fool, but he wasn't that gullible.  
  
Slightly mollified by his own reasonings, Draco allowed himself to relax. Casually he stripped free of his clothes and slid beneath his sheets. He pillowed his head on his arm, staring up at the ceiling as his hand slid absently along his abdomen, scratching lightly while his thoughts shifted.  
  
It had felt good to hit Potter with his fists instead of with magic. Not so much because he enjoyed the other boy's pain, although he did. No, it had felt so good because it was such a release. Physical agression had not been something his father had felt was important, and because of that it had been one of the few things that he'd not had an instructor for when he was growing up. It hadn't been until his fourteenth birthday - the year his father had brought in two of the Dark Lord's lower-ranked followers to instruct him in the art of seduction - that Draco had ever physically touched anyone in any but the most casual of ways.  
  
To Lucius Malfoy, sex was just another tool to utilize when trying to accomplish a goal. Draco felt the same way, though he suspected he enjoyed the act a bit more than his father ever had. Although he didn't consider his interludes as having any sort of bearing on his sexual orientation, Draco had been taught how to seduce and gratify both sexes, and it was something he took the opportunity to do as much as possible when off school grounds. He'd yet to utilitize his skills at Hogwarts; mostly because there hadn't been a need for them as of yet. It was rather easy to get what he wanted while at school; too many people were afraid of him, or perhaps more realistically his father - and thus, Lord Voldemort. He also didn't want to have to worry about the possibility of having any students discover he was having affairs with other students; it never pleased his father when gossip reached his ears that had nothing to do with furthering the Malfoy name. Not that he had to worry about his father's wishes anymore.  
  
With that thought came the irritating pang of regret and guilt that he couldn't seem to shake. Anxious to think about something - anything - else, Draco returned his attention to his interaction with Potter. A smirk crossed his lips as he recalled the frustration on the prat's face when he'd left against the Gryffindor's wishes. Potter's green eyes and been vivid with frustration, his teeth clenched so tightly that a muscle in his jaw twitched repeatedly. Every muscle in the other boy's chest had been taut with anger.  
  
It wasn't until Draco felt the hand on his abdomen lower that he realized he was aroused. And why not? He'd had power over the bloody Gryffindor, and power was a strong aphrodisiac. Slowly the Slytherin's lashes lowered until he saw nothing, and again he replayed the scene of Potter's humiliation in his head, his heart thudding as his arousal increased. When he felt the rapid beat of his own pulse beneath his thumb, Draco turned his head into his pillow to hide his shout.  
  
The satisfied Slytherin's last thought was one of anticipation; he couldn't wait to put Potter in his place again. And this time he'd get the information he wanted. No matter what it took.  
  
***  
  
"After our first year at Hogwarts, a house elf named Dobby kept all our letters to Harry from him in a misguided attempt to keep him from coming back to school. When he came back and everything was sorted out, Harry mentioned that he was afraid that communication during the summer was going to be a problem. His aunt and uncle aren't really fans of magic, and I personally think that they're so terrified of what he might do that they're just absolutely horrid to him on principle." Hermione paced the room stiffly, avoiding looking at anyone.  
  
"Regardless, we decided to try and look for another way to communicate that wouldn't involve breaking any of the major rules. It wasn't until the end of fourth year that I discovered how to create a bolthole, which is sort of like a magical storage box that can transfer small objects. You open the box, place something inside, then close it. Immediately the object is transfered to the mirror box. The tricky thing is that once they're firmly placed, even a small jolt to either box will disrupt the flow of magic and render the bolthole useless. In addition, once you open a box and find an object inside, you have to take it out. If you leave it in, it will vanish. It never returns to the box it was sent from, and as I understand it the object that was lost ends up in a 'lost and found' storage somewhere in the Ministry of Magic." She paused to take a breath, and Ginny spoke up quickly.  
  
"Wouldn't creating these to use at home be a violation of the 'don't-do- magic-outside-of-school' rule?"  
  
Ron grinned slightly, impressed with his little sister's intelligence but more than willing to goad her for her lack of knowledge as well. "We made them here, but didn't affix them to anywhere. It doesn't take a spell, either. The box just has to be touching wood, and we wrapped them in bubble wrap to make certain that didn't happen."  
  
"Bubble wrap?" queried Fred.  
  
"Muggle invention. It's packaging material, but it has the added bonus of providing hours of mind-numbing, bubble-popping entertainment." Ron grinned at his brother, who made a mental note to look into selling it in their catalogue.  
  
Hermione grinned a little, trying to ignore the slight shiver that had travelled up her spine when Ron met her eyes to share the memory. For a moment, it felt like the incident just an hour before hadn't happened, and she was grateful. "Have I mentioned before that you're all very weird? Anyway, we put one at my house - we figured that with all the people in the Weasley household, someone was bound to move the box at some point - and gave the other to Harry. We used the bolthole partially to send messages that we didn't want to risk anyone else seeing, but mostly to send small bits of food he was craving each week. It wasn't unusual to open the box to find a note with one simple word written on it with five exclamation points." She smiled suddenly. "For an entire fortnight, I woke up to find the word 'WAFFLES!!!!!' waiting for me. But last summer, things were....different."  
  
She trailed off and Ron straightened, continuing where she'd left it. "Harry was hard to talk to after Sirius died. We didn't know it at the time, but he'd had a talk with Dumbledore and it had made things even worse. For weeks he didn't leave anything in the box, and Hermione and I decided to just wait until he was ready to talk about it - or not talk about it, if that's what he wanted. Finally he left a brief apology in the box, promising to keep in touch. The next day we both got a letter from him by owl, and we didn't really think about the box for awhile."  
  
Hermione interrupted quietly. "Sometime in early July I received a note in the bolthole from Harry that said he wanted to form a stronger bond between the three of us to help us fight against Voldemort. It was the first time he'd said anything that even remotely approached the topic of the Dark Lord, Sirius or anything related to them, and Ron and I were just glad that he wasn't shutting us out. I replied that I thought it would be a good idea, but I had to do some research into it. He said that he'd already done the research, and that no one would notice the small bit of magic he'd have to use to create the bond. I was afraid that if I hesitated, he'd close up again. So Ron and I said yes, and we sent him the materials he asked for."  
  
Again the girl trailed off, and this time when she looked at Ron, her eyes pleaded with him to finish the story. She couldn't do it. The silence proved to be too much for George.  
  
"No offense, but I fail to see what this has to do with anything."  
  
Ron grimaced. "Harry asked for a vial of blood from each of us. Considering that he was going to perform a bonding spell, we didn't think the request unusual, so we sent it. Unfortunately, it wasn't Harry."  
  
"What?" Neville gasped. "Then who was it?"  
  
Again Ron shook his head, looking away. "We don't know. The day after we sent the blood, the bolthole stopped working. But we think it was You-Know- Who."  
  
"How do you know it wasn't Harry?" This came from Fred, whose looked abnormally grim.  
  
"Because I asked him at the start of term if the bonding spell had worked, and he clearly had no idea what I was talking about. Aside from that, however, it was only a few days after we sent the vials that Hermione and I began to notice that something was wrong."  
  
Neville glanced around as silence hung in the room, watching as horrified comprehension dawned on the Weasley's faces, then finally shook his head. "Since I'm apparently the only one who has no idea what you're talking about, I'll ask. What did you notice?"  
  
"I started to get angry a lot, for reasons that were rather trivial. It wasn't normal, and it was really difficult to pull out of. And I never quite remembered what had happened when I calmed down. It didn't seem like it was happening to me. When I mentioned it to Hermione, she said she'd felt the same way."  
  
"Hermione's been getting angry a lot? I haven't seen it." Neville frowned at Ron, then looked toward Hermione, who suddenly seemed to find the ceiling incredibly interesting. Ron narrowed his gaze as well.  
  
"...Actually, Hermione never said what exactly it was that she'd felt..." He trailed off, clearly expecting an explanation. As did everyone else in the room.  
  
Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment at being put on the spot, the young woman folded her arms protectively around her waist, refusing to look at anyone when she finally spoke. "No. I...don't get angry, Neville."  
  
Again the room went quiet, until finally George straightened from the wall he'd been leaning against. "You don't seriously think we're going to let you stop there, do you?"  
  
The Weasleys all nodded their agreement, staring expectently at Hermione. She took a deep breath before lifting her head, her brown eyes focusing on Neville, as if seeking comfort. He stared at her directly, murmuring softly. "Tell us, Hermione."  
  
A nervous tremor shook her hands, and she fisted them, dragging her gaze to meet Ron's, her breath caught in her throat. He walked forward, and for the first time since she'd run from the bathroom he touched her, his hand lightly squeezing his shoulder. His determined gaze never left her own.  
  
"It doesn't matter if it's bad, Herm. We're going to fix it. But we can't do it if you don't tell us everything. Okay?" She searched his eyes, then nodded, finally exhaling.  
  
Hermione felt stupid and unbalanced. It wasn't like her to be so shy. She thought about blaming it on the episode with Ron, but her innate honesty refused to accept her excuse. The truth was that she hated to confess her weaknesses. It literally scared her to admit her vulnerability, because once she said it out loud she couldn't hide from it anymore. The thought that she couldn't handle her problems on her own was frightening - but it was also the truth. She and Ron were in over their heads, and they knew it.  
  
"I've been having problems with self-control, too - just in a different way. If a situation becomes too confusion or stressful, I get overwhelmed and I panick. Then there's this voice in my head, and it tells me that there's someone else to blame for my problems. If they were gone, everything would be better. So far it's only amounted to me snapping at people - but I'm terrified, because I never really remember everything that I said and did during that time. I'm afraid that one day I'll turn around and find I've hurt someone that my head was telling me deserved it." Her voice wavered as she spoke the last sentence, and as tears filled her eyes Ron gripped her shoulders, shaking lightly.  
  
"No, Hermione. Stop it, it's not going to happen. We aren't going to let it. It's gone far enough. What I did... Merlin, we're lucky it wasn't worse. And I can't tell you how sorry I am, about everything. But I'll make it up to you. We're going to beat this, I promise you. Okay? You understand? We're not going to be scared anymore."  
  
She stared up at a Ron that she'd never seen before, tears spilling slowly down her cheeks. Tactfully Ginny and the twins turned their heads away, speaking quietly amidst themselves. Hermione didn't notice that Neville didn't look away from them, though Ron did. He battled back the anger that briefly threatened, then slowly released his grip on his friend's shoulders. He wouldn't take the chance of accidently hurting her again. Finally he turned to look at his friends, his hands fisted determinedly at his sides.  
  
"We have to find a way to stop this, and we're going to need your help. Hermione's been checking the library, and she's found nothing. We're not even sure if it was Voldemort, although it seems a good place to start."  
  
Hermione looked up at Ron in shock. Merlin, he'd actually said 'Voldemort' without trembling!  
  
"So what is it you need done, brother?" If anyone else noticed the accusation that colored Ginny's words, they said nothing. Ron's eyes flashed a warning to his sister, though his voice revealed none of his frustration.  
  
"Firstly, we're going to need to look into Occulmency a bit more. Hermione and I have been counting on Dumbledore's intervention ever since we told him about our predicament before school started this year, and he's no longer available for a resource. For the time being, at least. Fred and George, if you two could try and find some sort of potion that's used to clear someone's thoughts, it might be a start." The twins nodded thoughtfully, their eyes glinting with respect.  
  
"Ginny and Neville, Hermione and I are going to need your help. I'm afraid that if she and I look out for each other, we may end up making things worse. So between the two of you, we need to make certain that we're watched. I know I don't want to take the chance of slipping without realizing it, and I'm fairly certain she feels the same." He paused to glance toward Hermione, who nodded immediately, looking relieved. "Do you two think you can help?"  
  
Neville and Ginny exchanged a look, then nodded simultaneously. "Of course. Anything we can do to help." This came from the youngest Weasley, whose attitude toward her brother seemed to have softened just slightly.  
  
"Ah... I have a suggestion, though you may not want to hear it." Neville rubbed his neck a little. "I think you should talk to Harry. Not only is he your best source of information about Occulmency - which I'm not certain I even understand - but he's also your best friend. It's not fair to keep this from him. We're not kids anymore, especially Harry. Leave it to him to decide what he can and cannot handle. You might be surprised."  
  
His words were greeted with silence until Hermione finally spoke up apprehensively, her hand dragging through the thick strands of her hair. "We'll talk about it."  
  
Neville nodded, then glanced at his watch. "We'd better get to bed; we're out past curfew as it is."  
  
Everyone nodded, gathering their things and heading for the door. Just before he opened the door to lead the procession into the hall, Fred paused and looked back at the small group.  
  
"Keep a close eye on Harry, everyone. If You-Know-Who has managed to find a way to get to Hermione and Ron, there's every chance he's gotten to Harry as well. "  
  
* * * 


End file.
